in which — the daughter of severus snape, the infamous hogwarts professor and head of slytherin house, has come to hogwarts. when unexpectedly sorted into gryffindor house, she finds herself forming an unlikely friendship with harry potter, ron weasley, and hermione granger—yet a watchful slytherin boy can’t help falling for her, much to the amusement of his friends..
contains — snape’s daughter!reader, gryffindor!reader, a whipped draco malfoy and five teasing friends (mattheo riddle, theodore nott, blaise zabini, enzo berkshire, and pansy parkinson), golden trio, a brief quidditch game, appearances from neville longbottom, the weasley twins, hagrid, and more
word count — 4.7k
Everyone knew who you were before you had even arrived at Hogwarts. Daughter of Severus Snape, Head of Slytherin House and Potions Master of the School, teachers and students alike were anxiously anticipating your arrival.
Rumours flew about regarding your character almost immediately leading up to your first year. “I heard that she once hexed a Muggle boy a few years ago because he accidentally broke her toy broomstick. It was a huge ordeal — the Ministry even had to get involved,” said a boy in your year on the first train-ride to the castle, shooting weary looks towards you from his crowded compartment of eager listeners.
It was nothing less of a shock, however, when you finally arrived. Completely the opposite of your father, every student you introduced yourself to was shocked to learn that you shared the same surname as the Professor whose horror-stories of experiences with other students had spread like wildfire through generations of parents and siblings before you.
So, when the Sorting Hat took a solid few minutes debating on which House to sort you into, the Great Hall was engulfed in astonished silence when the bared mouth of the wrecked fabric shrieked out, “GRYFFINDOR!”
Now, years later, you had established a reputation at Hogwarts as one of the most benign sudents. Even those who detested your father were friendly with you — many of them even attempting to convince you to lessen your father’s harsh demeanour.
“You know I can’t do that, Neville. He’s really not as rude as everyone acts, he’s just.. strong-willed,” you defended, as you walked alongside Neville Longbottom through the school grounds towards your first class of the day, Herbology with Professor Sprout.
“Maybe to you..” Neville whispered under his breath, as the two of you neared the greenhouses through the calm wind.
Everyone knew that Snape had an obvious bias in favouritism towards the Slytherin students of his House, which extended to his daughter, even if you were a Gryffindor.
As you entered the greenhouse, the sight of Harry, Ron, and Hermione waving towards the two of you caught your attention. You received a few nods of acknowledgment from many of the Slytherins, who you shared the class period with.
“We’re supposed to be — OUCH — getting Bubotuber pus from these,” Ron said as the two of you joined their table, undiluted pus shooting towards his arm as he gestured towards a box full of slug-like plants, Hermione reaching for his arm to cast a quick remedy spell.
“Wow, Weasley, even the infestations don’t like you,” Draco Malfoy’s voice roared from the table behind the five of you, his friends laughing obnoxiously at his comment.
You turned to face him, spotting six familar Slytherin students; Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini laughed stupidly at his side, Enzo Berkshire was coddling over one of the plants, and Mattheo Riddle and Theodore Nott were trying to stab towards the middle of one of the plants with their wands.
“Shut up, Malfoy,” you said, rolling your eyes.
He stared at you for a moment, before smirking. “I’m sure your father wouldn’t be pleased to hear how you speak to your fellow classmates,” Draco teased.
“And I’m sure he won’t be too pleased once I tell him that you threw a pair of pliers towards us,” you said, eyeing one of the instruments that lay on the wooden table next to him.
“He didn’t — OUCH,” Enzo shrieked, as Blaise had swatted him over the head. “You idiot, she’s going to tell him that he did,” Blaise said.
“We can vouch for him, you know,” Pansy said, crossing her arms in front of her.
You mirrored her stance, looking at her with a look of disgust. “Oh, really? Who’s he going to believe? You five,” you gestured towards them, your gaze lingering on Theo as he wiped pus from his hair where the plant had exploded from his prodding, “or his daughter?”
Draco scoffed. “Whatever,” he said, turning back towards his own table.
“Blimey, never thought I’d see the day where Snape’s existence worked in someone’s favour,” Ron said, earning him a glare from you.
“Merlin, I feel like they’re all staring at me,” you said, as you peered over Harry’s shoulder towards the Slytherin table. At your words, Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned towards the long table in the Great Hall, and, sure enough, the dull eyes of six Slytherins glared directly at you.
“Malfoy’s just being a git, ignore him,” Harry said, as Ron stuffed his face with ham and cheese sandwiches to his other side.
“Easy for you to say! They’re not looking directly at you,” you pleaded, picking up your goblet of pumpkin juice with shaky hands to conceal yourself against their stares.
“For once,” Ron said. As you watched him reach for a roasted chicken across the table, your attention was diverted to a brown owl soaring towards your table. Hermione quickly reached for Harry’s goblet, moving it out of the way as the owl landed in front of you, a small folded piece of parchment held limply in its beak.
You took the parchment from the small owl, before reaching across towards Ron’s plate, handing it the crust of his sandwich against his protests. The owl hooted gratefully, before taking off again towards the owlery.
“What is it?” Hermione asked, eyeing the small roll of parchment you held. You unfolded it, an unfamiliar scratch of messy writing meeting your eyes.
The end justifies the means. Don’t dwell on the
conclusion, love — Draco
You looked up, facing the Slytherin table. Draco looked smug, his friends smirking at his side. Harry snatched the note from your grasp, reading it.
“What’s he playing at?” Ron spoke, reading the message over Harry’s shoulder.
“Don’t know,” you said, glaring at Draco, as you watched Theodore Nott whisper something in his ear.
Potions was always your favourite class of the day, as it was one of the only times where you would get to visit your father during school hours. The Gryffindors, however, always hated having to attend the same Potions class with you, as Snape would always replace his harshness for you by being extra hard on them — offering you and the Slytherins a free-pass from his torment.
“Did I not say to add three drops of leech juice until the liquid brewed to an acid green shade?” Snape asked Neville, who shuddered under his gaze. “Why, then, has Longbottom’s,” he gestured towards Neville’s cauldron, “turned to a putrid shade of orange?” Snape asked.
Wearily, Hermione raised her hand up, which Snape ignored. “I think we should test out Longbottom’s potion on his fat toad,” Snape suggested, as the Slytherin’s laughed at the horrified look on Neville’s face. “If it works as it should, which I highly doubt, as failure seems to follow Longbottom everywhere he goes, then this toad should shrink down to the size of Longbottom’s intelligence,” Snape said, earning choruses of laughter from the Slytherins. “If not, then Longbottom might benefit from saying his farewells to the amphibian.”
“Professor, please-,” Hermione began. “Did I pick on you to answer, Ms Granger?” Snape snapped coldly, his gaze shifting from Neville to Hermione now.
“Ten points will be-,” he began, before his eyes landed on you, who looked at him wide-eyed. “Five points from Gryffindor for meddling into matters outside of your own,” Snape said harshly to Hermione, turning back towards his desk.
. . .
“Do you see what we mean? He only lessened his punishment of the Gryffindors because you’re in our House!” Ron said exasperatedly as the four of you departed from the dungeons. Neville walked next to you, still shaking slightly as he held Trevor clutched against his chest.
“He’s goal-oriented,” you defended sharply, your books held tightly against your own chest.
“And I think he had a point,” Draco Malfoy said from behind your group. “Granger, you really should think about keeping your mouth quiet once in a while.”
Ron looked as if he were about to pull his wand out of his robes, but Hermione placed a hand on his arm to stop him.
“What’s the matter, Weasley? Afraid Snape’s going to pick on you like he did Longbottom?” Theo asked, as Mattheo reached for Trevor.
“Stop,” you said, reaching for Trevor yourself. Mattheo and Theo laughed, as Pansy, Enzo, and Blaise made their way over from where they’d left the Potions classroom. At the sound of your words, Draco looked over at you.
“Mattheo, stop it,” he said.
Shocked, everyone turned towards him. “But, this toad’s as useless as Longbottom’s-,” Mattheo began. “I said stop,” Draco said. Mattheo’s shock allowed you to seize Trevor from his grasp, handing him back to Neville, whose mouth was agape.
“And what is all this commotion?” Snape had made his way out of the dungeons, joining the group of Slytherins and Gryffindors who stood down the corridor. He turned towards you for an explanation.
Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville stared at you, waiting for you to rat on Draco and his friends. Yet, as you caught Draco’s eye, his friends standing a small distance behind him, something overcame you.
“N-nothing. Neville’s toad was just.. reacting to the potion a little late,” you said, as you stared up at your father. He glared at you, giving you a look that inexplictly said he didn’t believe your defence.
“Get to class, all of you,” he said, his eyes lingering on you for a moment, before turning swiftly back to the dungeons.
“What was that?” Harry demanded angrily once Snape was out of ear-shot. Your eyes locked with Draco’s again, before you continued down the corridor, passing the bewildered faces of his friends.
“She’s gone mad,” Ron spoke softly to Harry and Hermione over dinner; you were currently in your father’s office, helping him restock his potions ingredients. “We were this close to finally watching Malfoy snuff it,” he said, as he helped himself to a plateful of stew.
“Talking about little Ms Snape, are we?” Fred Weasley said, as he and George joined the Gryffindor table. “Quite a change of heart she’s had recently, don’t you think?” he added on, as he sat on Ron’s side.
“Whatcha mean?” Ron asked through a mouthful of steak and kidney pie. “Oh, come on, Ron, we knew you were thick, but not this thick,” George said.
“She’s normally really nice — unsettlingly so, actually, considering her relatives,” Fred said. “But recently,” George said, as he loaded his plate with mashed potatoes and gravy. “She’s been acting more and more like the wretched version of Snape. Been lashing out at the Slytherins, who normally treat her fairly well — you know how they are, prioritizing family trees and all that,” he mocked.
“A lot of the Slytherins even think that she should’ve been sorted into their house,” Fred said, as he withdrew a couple of pieces of Nosebleed Nougats from a packet that was in the pockets of his robes.
“That’s absurd!” Hermione shrieked. “She’s nothing like Snape!”
“The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree, though, does it?” Fred said.
“Where’s your little girl friend, Potter?” called a voice from behind them. Draco Malfoy was shouting across the hall now, drawing attention from all four tables. “She’s finally decided where her loyalties lie?” he said, as the Slytherins stared at Harry, waiting for a reaction.
“Ignore them,” George said, as Ron placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder to turn him away from the Slytherin’s stares.
Hermione quickly shoveled heaps of shepherd’s pie into her mouth, causing Fred to place a hand on her wrist. “Calm down, it’s all yours, mate,” he said at her sudden rush.
“I have to get to the library,” she said, as she quickly downed the remnants of her pumpkin juice.
“For what?” Ron asked. Ignoring him, Hermione placed her knife and fork down neatly on top of her plate, before rising from the table, making her way quickly out of the hall.
If Harry, Ron, Fred and George hadn’t been so preoccupied by Hermione’s sudden departure, or the fact that Neville had mistakenly eaten one of the twin’s Nosebleed Nougats during dessert, they would have noticed the six seats at the Slytherin table that now stood vacated.
“Knight takes the King!” Ron exclaimed, as his Knight piece came barrelling towards Harry’s fallen King. The common room was empty except for the two of them, who were playing one last round of wizard’s chess before bed.
The sound of the portrait hole swinging open caught their attention, as they spotted Hermione hurrying through.
“Guys!” she said, spotting them. “You’ll never — believe — what I just heard,” she breathed out, as she clamped a hand over a stitch in her ribs.
“Well, get on with it,” Ron said, as he packed away the chess board from where he knelt next to the table near the fireplace.
She caught her breath for a moment, before hurriedly saying, “Malfoyandhisfriendsweretalkinginthelibrary.”
“Sorry?” Harry asked.
“Malfoy — and his friends — were talking in the library,” she said slower.
“Wow, that’s strictly against school rules, isn’t it?” Ron said.
“That’s not what I meant. They were talking about her, Malfoy wants to ask her out,” Hermione said, as she told them the details of how she had overheard Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson teasing Draco over falling for a Gryffindor, Enzo Berkshire congratulating him on ‘coming to his senses,’ and Theodore Nott and Mattheo Riddle shooting him outrageously unrealistic ideas on how to ask you out.
“Malfoy fancies a Gryffindor? Snape’s daughter, too? Blimey, he’s asking for trouble,” Ron said.
“What do you mean?” Hermione asked.
“Come off it, Hermione. Snape would never allow anyone to date his daughter, not even Malfoy. Remember what he did to that one Hufflepuff whose hand accidentally brushed against hers when they both tried to grab the same textbook?” Ron said, as the three of them recalled when Snape had hexed a Hufflepuff boy’s cauldron to blow up in his face, singeing the top of his hair.
“Besides, she’d never date a Slytherin,” Harry said firmly.
“Who wouldn’t date a Slytherin?” you asked. Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned towards the portrait hole where you’d just entered. “Sorry I’m late, my father had to skin a few Boomslang snakes because he’d ran out of their skin-sheds,” you said, waiting for a response.
“Uhm, Crabbe fancies Hermione!” Ron shrieked out. Hermione glared at him, outraged.
“Urgh, really?” you asked, disgusted.
“Yeah, he’s been boasting about it to the Slytherins,” Hermione said, clearing her throat, “but I would never date a Slytherin,” she clarified, shooting Ron a furtive look of appall.
“They’re not all that bad,” you defended quietly, a gleam of a smile on your face, as you made your way up to the dormitories.
The three stared after you, shocked.
“Bloody hell, she would date a Slytherin,” Ron said, horrified.
“She can’t be this naive, can she?” Pansy asked the surrounding Slytherins the next day. The five of them watched as you stroked the long, glittering white fur of a unicorn Hagrid had brought along for your Care of Magical Creatures lesson.
“You think she’s naive? Draco’s been staring at her for the past two minutes,” Theo said, looking over at the boy, his silver eyes unblinking as they stared at you affectionately fawning over the unicorn.
“I don’t think he’s even blinked once,” Mattheo teased.
“Draco!” Pansy grinned, snapping her fingers in front of his line-of-sight.
He drew his eyes away from you as you stared up at the unicorn with the most endearing look he’d ever seen on your face, the shine of brightness illuminating from the magical creature’s fur casting a soft glow over your skin. “Yeah?” he asked.
“Did you hear anything that we said?” Enzo asked.
“Yeah, sounds great,” he said, his attention drawn back to you. Theo and Blaise chuckled, never having seen their friend so dumbstruck before.
“Come on, mate, just ask her out,” Theo encouraged.
“Yeah, the worst she could say is no,” Enzo added.
“Unless she decides to hex you, that is,” Mattheo chimed in.
Draco sighed heartily. “You know I can’t ask her. She’s Snape’s daughter. He’ll poison me or something.”
“So? At least you’ll die a happy lad,” Mattheo said, earning him a disapproving glare from Draco.
“Just go for it,” Theo said, pushing Draco towards where you stood.
Stumbling, he fell face-first on the patch of dirt in front of him, wincing as he pulled himself up.
“Malfoy, get away from ‘ere!” Hagrid yelled, but it was too late; the unicorn, which was accustomed to females rather than males, sensed Draco, and roughly kicked its front legs out at him, causing him to fall back on to the dirt.
“No!” Hagrid warned the creature, hurtling forwards and seizing Draco by his arms away from it.
“It’s okay! It’s okay..,” he heard you say softly.
You had neared the unicorn once more during its outburst, even as the rest of the students had hurried a safe distance away. You stroked the unicorn’s coat of fur gently from where you stood at its side, calming it down.
The class watched in astonishment as the unicorn obeyed your soft lulling, nuzzling further into your delicate touch.
As the class ended, Draco watched as you made your way back to the castle with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, the sounds of Ron saying, “That was brilliant!” and Hermione sharing the reasoning behind a unicorn’s historical discomfort around males that she’d read in Fantastic Beats and Where to Find Them following after you.
“To be completely honest with you, mate, if you don’t ask her out soon, I will,” Enzo said.
Soon enough, Draco realized that everyone was thinking along the same lines as Enzo. The story of how you’d tamed a unicorn during Hagrid’s class spread throughout the school the following day, with many people even expressing their shock. “I’m sorry, a Snape did that? Aren’t they the kind of lot that would, I don’t know, skin the unicorn alive instead?” they heard a Ravenclaw say during their Charms lesson.
Even the Hufflepuffs, who had a premeditated disdain for your father, were suddenly gawking at you the next few days.
“Just tell her the truth,” Pansy encouraged Draco, as she sat on the floor in front of one of the sofa’s of the common room.
“Yeah, tell her how you’re absolutely whipped for her,” Mattheo teased, dodging out of the way as Draco had launched a pillow at his head from where he sat on the sofa.
“Guys, be serious,” Enzo said on Draco’s behalf.
“We are!” Theo defended, as he cast a floating pink heart bubble into the air from the tip of his wand.
Draco reached forward, his slim finger popping the burst of pink. He rubbed a hand through his silver-blond hair, sighing loudly as he leaned back into the couch cushions.
“Just start off small, mate. Girls are weirdly enamoured by simple gestures,” Blaise suggested, clapping an encouraging hand on Draco’s shoulder.
Draco stared with his mouth agape after you, fighting the urge to strike Mattheo across the back of his thick head as he laughed behind him.
“We didn’t mean like that!” Theo said through his own hysterics, as Pansy, Blaise, and Enzo struggled to contain their own laughter.
Having taken Theo’s advice to heart, Draco had decided that the most effective way to, indirectly, ask for your attention was by planting a Boggart that he had nicked from the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor’s desk inside an empty classroom. As he had recruited Crabbe to help with his plan, his beaty foot had knocked you off your feet in the hallway, sending your books to the floor. Draco, who lurked behind the statute of an old wizard, swiped his wand lazily over one of your fallen books, sending it into the empty classroom. As you blushed furiously, you had made your way into the classroom, letting out a horrified shriek that echoed through the hallways.
Draco smirked to himself, making his way out from behind the statue towards the classroom, intent on ‘saving’ you. What he hadn’t expected was for Harry, Ron, and Hermione to come barreling through the hallway at the sound of your distress, Harry’s voice echoing through the halls as he protectively yelled out, “RIDDIKULUS!”
As he watched the four of you make your way out from the classroom, Harry’s arm wrapped around your shoulder, his face distorted with a bitter look of dejection.
Pansy cleared her throat. “May I suggest something?”
It appeared as if Harry, Ron, and Hermione had taken it upon themselves to always have at least one of them at your side at all times following your encounter with the Boggart. Draco stared bitterly at where you, Ron, and Hermione stood in the stands of the Quidditch pitch, sporting scarlet memorabilia alongside the rest of the Gryffindors.
He rubbed furiously at the handle of his broomstick, cleaning at a spot that had no signs of smudge. As Marcus Flint stared intently at the Gryffindor Captain, Draco glared menancingly at Harry. The sound of Madam Hooch’s whistle brought him back to earth, and the Quaffle was released, feet kicking off the muddy ground, broomsticks rising into the air.
“Rough start for Potter over there,” Lee Jordan commentated loudly throughout the pitch. It had taken Harry a few seconds to fly upwards into the air, as Mattheo had roughly bumped into his shoulder — a few valuable seconds that Draco had used to surmount his broomstick over the height of the pitch on the Slytherin side.
“Chaser Angelina Johnson’s in possession of the Quaffle — OOH, fantastic save by one of the Weasley twins, I think that was Fred? Or George — kind of difficult to tell from here..” Jordan said, as a Bludger had come barreling towards where Angelina Johnson flew from where Theo had aimed it.
Theo looked over at Draco, shooting him a curt nod. Blaise, who had just swerved away from one of the Gryffindor players in attempts of confusing him, and Mattheo, made their way over, following Theo’s lead.
Draco hitched the handle of his broomstick roughly forwards, aiming towards the stands filled in shades of scarlet and gold.
Many people shirked, dodging out of the way through frightened gasps. Hagrid swore loudly, stumbling backwards, stepping on the feet and colliding harshly with a group of small first-years.
“Blimey!” Ron Weasley shrieked, as he reached for Ginny’s hand, pulling her downwards to duck out of the way, Hermione doing the same to you.
“Oi! What was that?!” Seamus Finnigan roared, as yells of outrage flew from the mouths of the Gryffindor crowd.
Draco caught your gaze as you looked up at him with wide eyes from where you were crouched next to Hermione. He shot a sly wink your way, before indiscreetly reaching into the pocket of his emerald Quidditch robes, pulling out an enchanted piece of parchment. He dropped it from where he hovered, your hand quickly wrapping around the wrinkled sheaf before it could hit the floor.
He hurriedly turned back towards the match, catching sight of Blaise, Theo, and Mattheo crowded around Harry’s broomstick, blocking him from searching for the Golden Snitch.
You looked down at the sheaf of parchment, carefully unfolding it with trembling fingers outside of Hermione’s sight.
A drawing danced around the paper, the ink blotches from where the quill had met its surface moving around. It appeared to be a terribly drawn sketch of Draco flying on his broomstick as he neared a poorly drawn girl, hearts moving around her head. Before you could even wonder what the drawing was supposed to mean, it had vanished from your grasp in a heap of burned parchment.
You dropped the small burned remnants of the sheaf onto the ground of the stands, before looking for Draco once more.
It seemed that everyone else had also been preoccupied by Draco’s arrival, many people continuing to angrily blurt out, “He’s a bloody cheat!” Everyone’s attention was drawn back to the boy, however, at Lee Jordan’s shout of, “Malfoy’s leering dangerously close to the stands once more, he’s spotted the Snitch!”
Harry extracted himself from the huddle of Slytherin’s around him, barrelling after Draco to the calls of encouragement from the Gryffindors. Then …
“Malfoy’s caught the Snitch — SLYTHERIN WINS.”
Everyone around you groaned, Seamus Finnigan angrily throwing his red winter cap onto the floor as he swore. “THAT’S RUBBISH!” Fred and George Weasley yelled from the pitch, as many of the Gryffindors called for a re-match.
“They can’ just block him like ‘at!” Hagrid roared, as Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor’s sombrely made their way down to the grounds. “Come on,” Ron said, as you, Hermione, and Ginny made your way towards him.
As you barrelled through outraged Gryffindor’s, many of them yelling so furiously that their cheeks matched the shades of scarlet they wore, you were abruptly yanked by your arm by someone on the pitch.
“Pansy?” you asked, looking back at Ron, Hermione, and Ginny as they neared Harry, who looked as if he were to snap his broomstick in half.
“Come with me!” she giggled, pulling you by your arm towards the pitch.
She pulled you towards the Slytherin team, all of whom wore looks of triumph on their faces. Draco, however, was watching you and Pansy with a stern look on his face.
She pulled you towards him, stifled giggles continuing to fall from her lips. “Draco here has something he wants to tell you,” she said, before making her way over to Mattheo, Theo, and Blaise behind where the two of you stood.
You watched her as she left, before looking up at Draco, your eyes narrowed in confusion.
“Uhm,” he cleared his throat, “well, more so show you, actually,” he clarified. He pulled his wand out of his Quidditch robes, waving it with the tip aimed at the sky above the pitch.
Red sparks emitted from the tip, soaring high into the air. Many people gasped and pointed above, students proding their friends to draw their attention to the sight.
You looked up, squinting against the bright sparks that now spelled a message in the sky.
Don’t dwell on the conclusion, love
You looked at Draco with wide eyes, a blush beginning to creep across your cheeks. “I-I don’t understand..” you stuttered out, looking at him as his face shone with a red glow from the spell.
“It was kind of Pansy’s idea,” he said, as he looked down at the pitch to hide his own flushed skin. You looked over his shoulder at the girl, who giggled behind her hand. Enzo had also made his way onto the pitch, craning his neck to look at the sky with a look of astonishment on his face. Blaise stared at Draco as if he were already a dead-man walking. To the side of him, Mattheo and Theo were talking in hushed whispers, exchanging Galleons through a firm handshake.
“Look, I wasn’t really sure how to ask you at first, but, do you want to, maybe, go out together at the next Hogsmeade visit?” he asked. You looked up at him, conflicted, yet also shocked at how uncertain Draco seemed at this moment; the same boy who had just confidently won the Quidditch match for his House. You smiled softly at him, nodding your speechless approval.
You looked towards the Slytherin side of the pitch, spotting a familiar silhouette of long black robes and greasy black hair. Snape was sitting in a raised seat of the stands alongside some of the other Professors; Dumbledore acted as if he noticed nothing unusual, whereas Flitwick admired Draco’s spell work. Snape stared down at you with a thin line of lips, his body language stern.
You gasped, stepping a few steps back from Draco. “Draco, my father..” you said. It was no secret that Snape was overly protective of his daughter, and considering Draco as one of his favourite students wouldn’t lessen this burden.
“Don’t worry about that, love,” he said, “that’s a problem for later.” Yet, by the way his face started to become more and more red outside from just the fading sparks of the message, you knew that he was just as worried as you were.
notes ⋆. 𐙚 ₊˚ yeah so i had noo idea how to end this, but thank you for the request, anon !! hot take — if harry had been born a girl, snape would have been murdering people left and right on lily’s behalf
𝓗𝐎𝐆𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 𝓛𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 — @oopsiedaisydeer @drcamin
if interested in joining the harry potter taglist, click here ♡
in which — the daughter of severus snape, the infamous hogwarts professor and head of slytherin house, has come to hogwarts. when unexpectedly sorted into gryffindor house, she finds herself forming an unlikely friendship with harry potter, ron weasley, and hermione granger—yet a watchful slytherin boy can’t help falling for her, much to the amusement of his friends..
contains — snape’s daughter!reader, gryffindor!reader, a whipped draco malfoy and five teasing friends (mattheo riddle, theodore nott, blaise zabini, enzo berkshire, and pansy parkinson), golden trio, a brief quidditch game, appearances from neville longbottom, the weasley twins, hagrid, and more
word count — 4.7k
Everyone knew who you were before you had even arrived at Hogwarts. Daughter of Severus Snape, Head of Slytherin House and Potions Master of the School, teachers and students alike were anxiously anticipating your arrival.
Rumours flew about regarding your character almost immediately leading up to your first year. “I heard that she once hexed a Muggle boy a few years ago because he accidentally broke her toy broomstick. It was a huge ordeal — the Ministry even had to get involved,” said a boy in your year on the first train-ride to the castle, shooting weary looks towards you from his crowded compartment of eager listeners.
It was nothing less of a shock, however, when you finally arrived. Completely the opposite of your father, every student you introduced yourself to was shocked to learn that you shared the same surname as the Professor whose horror-stories of experiences with other students had spread like wildfire through generations of parents and siblings before you.
So, when the Sorting Hat took a solid few minutes debating on which House to sort you into, the Great Hall was engulfed in astonished silence when the bared mouth of the wrecked fabric shrieked out, “GRYFFINDOR!”
Now, years later, you had established a reputation at Hogwarts as one of the most benign sudents. Even those who detested your father were friendly with you — many of them even attempting to convince you to lessen your father’s harsh demeanour.
“You know I can’t do that, Neville. He’s really not as rude as everyone acts, he’s just.. strong-willed,” you defended, as you walked alongside Neville Longbottom through the school grounds towards your first class of the day, Herbology with Professor Sprout.
“Maybe to you..” Neville whispered under his breath, as the two of you neared the greenhouses through the calm wind.
Everyone knew that Snape had an obvious bias in favouritism towards the Slytherin students of his House, which extended to his daughter, even if you were a Gryffindor.
As you entered the greenhouse, the sight of Harry, Ron, and Hermione waving towards the two of you caught your attention. You received a few nods of acknowledgment from many of the Slytherins, who you shared the class period with.
“We’re supposed to be — OUCH — getting Bubotuber pus from these,” Ron said as the two of you joined their table, undiluted pus shooting towards his arm as he gestured towards a box full of slug-like plants, Hermione reaching for his arm to cast a quick remedy spell.
“Wow, Weasley, even the infestations don’t like you,” Draco Malfoy’s voice roared from the table behind the five of you, his friends laughing obnoxiously at his comment.
You turned to face him, spotting six familar Slytherin students; Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini laughed stupidly at his side, Enzo Berkshire was coddling over one of the plants, and Mattheo Riddle and Theodore Nott were trying to stab towards the middle of one of the plants with their wands.
“Shut up, Malfoy,” you said, rolling your eyes.
He stared at you for a moment, before smirking. “I’m sure your father wouldn’t be pleased to hear how you speak to your fellow classmates,” Draco teased.
“And I’m sure he won’t be too pleased once I tell him that you threw a pair of pliers towards us,” you said, eyeing one of the instruments that lay on the wooden table next to him.
“He didn’t — OUCH,” Enzo shrieked, as Blaise had swatted him over the head. “You idiot, she’s going to tell him that he did,” Blaise said.
“We can vouch for him, you know,” Pansy said, crossing her arms in front of her.
You mirrored her stance, looking at her with a look of disgust. “Oh, really? Who’s he going to believe? You five,” you gestured towards them, your gaze lingering on Theo as he wiped pus from his hair where the plant had exploded from his prodding, “or his daughter?”
Draco scoffed. “Whatever,” he said, turning back towards his own table.
“Blimey, never thought I’d see the day where Snape’s existence worked in someone’s favour,” Ron said, earning him a glare from you.
“Merlin, I feel like they’re all staring at me,” you said, as you peered over Harry’s shoulder towards the Slytherin table. At your words, Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned towards the long table in the Great Hall, and, sure enough, the dull eyes of six Slytherins glared directly at you.
“Malfoy’s just being a git, ignore him,” Harry said, as Ron stuffed his face with ham and cheese sandwiches to his other side.
“Easy for you to say! They’re not looking directly at you,” you pleaded, picking up your goblet of pumpkin juice with shaky hands to conceal yourself against their stares.
“For once,” Ron said. As you watched him reach for a roasted chicken across the table, your attention was diverted to a brown owl soaring towards your table. Hermione quickly reached for Harry’s goblet, moving it out of the way as the owl landed in front of you, a small folded piece of parchment held limply in its beak.
You took the parchment from the small owl, before reaching across towards Ron’s plate, handing it the crust of his sandwich against his protests. The owl hooted gratefully, before taking off again towards the owlery.
“What is it?” Hermione asked, eyeing the small roll of parchment you held. You unfolded it, an unfamiliar scratch of messy writing meeting your eyes.
The end justifies the means. Don’t dwell on the
conclusion, love — Draco
You looked up, facing the Slytherin table. Draco looked smug, his friends smirking at his side. Harry snatched the note from your grasp, reading it.
“What’s he playing at?” Ron spoke, reading the message over Harry’s shoulder.
“Don’t know,” you said, glaring at Draco, as you watched Theodore Nott whisper something in his ear.
Potions was always your favourite class of the day, as it was one of the only times where you would get to visit your father during school hours. The Gryffindors, however, always hated having to attend the same Potions class with you, as Snape would always replace his harshness for you by being extra hard on them — offering you and the Slytherins a free-pass from his torment.
“Did I not say to add three drops of leech juice until the liquid brewed to an acid green shade?” Snape asked Neville, who shuddered under his gaze. “Why, then, has Longbottom’s,” he gestured towards Neville’s cauldron, “turned to a putrid shade of orange?” Snape asked.
Wearily, Hermione raised her hand up, which Snape ignored. “I think we should test out Longbottom’s potion on his fat toad,” Snape suggested, as the Slytherin’s laughed at the horrified look on Neville’s face. “If it works as it should, which I highly doubt, as failure seems to follow Longbottom everywhere he goes, then this toad should shrink down to the size of Longbottom’s intelligence,” Snape said, earning choruses of laughter from the Slytherins. “If not, then Longbottom might benefit from saying his farewells to the amphibian.”
“Professor, please-,” Hermione began. “Did I pick on you to answer, Ms Granger?” Snape snapped coldly, his gaze shifting from Neville to Hermione now.
“Ten points will be-,” he began, before his eyes landed on you, who looked at him wide-eyed. “Five points from Gryffindor for meddling into matters outside of your own,” Snape said harshly to Hermione, turning back towards his desk.
. . .
“Do you see what we mean? He only lessened his punishment of the Gryffindors because you’re in our House!” Ron said exasperatedly as the four of you departed from the dungeons. Neville walked next to you, still shaking slightly as he held Trevor clutched against his chest.
“He’s goal-oriented,” you defended sharply, your books held tightly against your own chest.
“And I think he had a point,” Draco Malfoy said from behind your group. “Granger, you really should think about keeping your mouth quiet once in a while.”
Ron looked as if he were about to pull his wand out of his robes, but Hermione placed a hand on his arm to stop him.
“What’s the matter, Weasley? Afraid Snape’s going to pick on you like he did Longbottom?” Theo asked, as Mattheo reached for Trevor.
“Stop,” you said, reaching for Trevor yourself. Mattheo and Theo laughed, as Pansy, Enzo, and Blaise made their way over from where they’d left the Potions classroom. At the sound of your words, Draco looked over at you.
“Mattheo, stop it,” he said.
Shocked, everyone turned towards him. “But, this toad’s as useless as Longbottom’s-,” Mattheo began. “I said stop,” Draco said. Mattheo’s shock allowed you to seize Trevor from his grasp, handing him back to Neville, whose mouth was agape.
“And what is all this commotion?” Snape had made his way out of the dungeons, joining the group of Slytherins and Gryffindors who stood down the corridor. He turned towards you for an explanation.
Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville stared at you, waiting for you to rat on Draco and his friends. Yet, as you caught Draco’s eye, his friends standing a small distance behind him, something overcame you.
“N-nothing. Neville’s toad was just.. reacting to the potion a little late,” you said, as you stared up at your father. He glared at you, giving you a look that inexplictly said he didn’t believe your defence.
“Get to class, all of you,” he said, his eyes lingering on you for a moment, before turning swiftly back to the dungeons.
“What was that?” Harry demanded angrily once Snape was out of ear-shot. Your eyes locked with Draco’s again, before you continued down the corridor, passing the bewildered faces of his friends.
“She’s gone mad,” Ron spoke softly to Harry and Hermione over dinner; you were currently in your father’s office, helping him restock his potions ingredients. “We were this close to finally watching Malfoy snuff it,” he said, as he helped himself to a plateful of stew.
“Talking about little Ms Snape, are we?” Fred Weasley said, as he and George joined the Gryffindor table. “Quite a change of heart she’s had recently, don’t you think?” he added on, as he sat on Ron’s side.
“Whatcha mean?” Ron asked through a mouthful of steak and kidney pie. “Oh, come on, Ron, we knew you were thick, but not this thick,” George said.
“She’s normally really nice — unsettlingly so, actually, considering her relatives,” Fred said. “But recently,” George said, as he loaded his plate with mashed potatoes and gravy. “She’s been acting more and more like the wretched version of Snape. Been lashing out at the Slytherins, who normally treat her fairly well — you know how they are, prioritizing family trees and all that,” he mocked.
“A lot of the Slytherins even think that she should’ve been sorted into their house,” Fred said, as he withdrew a couple of pieces of Nosebleed Nougats from a packet that was in the pockets of his robes.
“That’s absurd!” Hermione shrieked. “She’s nothing like Snape!”
“The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree, though, does it?” Fred said.
“Where’s your little girl friend, Potter?” called a voice from behind them. Draco Malfoy was shouting across the hall now, drawing attention from all four tables. “She’s finally decided where her loyalties lie?” he said, as the Slytherins stared at Harry, waiting for a reaction.
“Ignore them,” George said, as Ron placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder to turn him away from the Slytherin’s stares.
Hermione quickly shoveled heaps of shepherd’s pie into her mouth, causing Fred to place a hand on her wrist. “Calm down, it’s all yours, mate,” he said at her sudden rush.
“I have to get to the library,” she said, as she quickly downed the remnants of her pumpkin juice.
“For what?” Ron asked. Ignoring him, Hermione placed her knife and fork down neatly on top of her plate, before rising from the table, making her way quickly out of the hall.
If Harry, Ron, Fred and George hadn’t been so preoccupied by Hermione’s sudden departure, or the fact that Neville had mistakenly eaten one of the twin’s Nosebleed Nougats during dessert, they would have noticed the six seats at the Slytherin table that now stood vacated.
“Knight takes the King!” Ron exclaimed, as his Knight piece came barrelling towards Harry’s fallen King. The common room was empty except for the two of them, who were playing one last round of wizard’s chess before bed.
The sound of the portrait hole swinging open caught their attention, as they spotted Hermione hurrying through.
“Guys!” she said, spotting them. “You’ll never — believe — what I just heard,” she breathed out, as she clamped a hand over a stitch in her ribs.
“Well, get on with it,” Ron said, as he packed away the chess board from where he knelt next to the table near the fireplace.
She caught her breath for a moment, before hurriedly saying, “Malfoyandhisfriendsweretalkinginthelibrary.”
“Sorry?” Harry asked.
“Malfoy — and his friends — were talking in the library,” she said slower.
“Wow, that’s strictly against school rules, isn’t it?” Ron said.
“That’s not what I meant. They were talking about her, Malfoy wants to ask her out,” Hermione said, as she told them the details of how she had overheard Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson teasing Draco over falling for a Gryffindor, Enzo Berkshire congratulating him on ‘coming to his senses,’ and Theodore Nott and Mattheo Riddle shooting him outrageously unrealistic ideas on how to ask you out.
“Malfoy fancies a Gryffindor? Snape’s daughter, too? Blimey, he’s asking for trouble,” Ron said.
“What do you mean?” Hermione asked.
“Come off it, Hermione. Snape would never allow anyone to date his daughter, not even Malfoy. Remember what he did to that one Hufflepuff whose hand accidentally brushed against hers when they both tried to grab the same textbook?” Ron said, as the three of them recalled when Snape had hexed a Hufflepuff boy’s cauldron to blow up in his face, singeing the top of his hair.
“Besides, she’d never date a Slytherin,” Harry said firmly.
“Who wouldn’t date a Slytherin?” you asked. Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned towards the portrait hole where you’d just entered. “Sorry I’m late, my father had to skin a few Boomslang snakes because he’d ran out of their skin-sheds,” you said, waiting for a response.
“Uhm, Crabbe fancies Hermione!” Ron shrieked out. Hermione glared at him, outraged.
“Urgh, really?” you asked, disgusted.
“Yeah, he’s been boasting about it to the Slytherins,” Hermione said, clearing her throat, “but I would never date a Slytherin,” she clarified, shooting Ron a furtive look of appall.
“They’re not all that bad,” you defended quietly, a gleam of a smile on your face, as you made your way up to the dormitories.
The three stared after you, shocked.
“Bloody hell, she would date a Slytherin,” Ron said, horrified.
“She can’t be this naive, can she?” Pansy asked the surrounding Slytherins the next day. The five of them watched as you stroked the long, glittering white fur of a unicorn Hagrid had brought along for your Care of Magical Creatures lesson.
“You think she’s naive? Draco’s been staring at her for the past two minutes,” Theo said, looking over at the boy, his silver eyes unblinking as they stared at you affectionately fawning over the unicorn.
“I don’t think he’s even blinked once,” Mattheo teased.
“Draco!” Pansy grinned, snapping her fingers in front of his line-of-sight.
He drew his eyes away from you as you stared up at the unicorn with the most endearing look he’d ever seen on your face, the shine of brightness illuminating from the magical creature’s fur casting a soft glow over your skin. “Yeah?” he asked.
“Did you hear anything that we said?” Enzo asked.
“Yeah, sounds great,” he said, his attention drawn back to you. Theo and Blaise chuckled, never having seen their friend so dumbstruck before.
“Come on, mate, just ask her out,” Theo encouraged.
“Yeah, the worst she could say is no,” Enzo added.
“Unless she decides to hex you, that is,” Mattheo chimed in.
Draco sighed heartily. “You know I can’t ask her. She’s Snape’s daughter. He’ll poison me or something.”
“So? At least you’ll die a happy lad,” Mattheo said, earning him a disapproving glare from Draco.
“Just go for it,” Theo said, pushing Draco towards where you stood.
Stumbling, he fell face-first on the patch of dirt in front of him, wincing as he pulled himself up.
“Malfoy, get away from ‘ere!” Hagrid yelled, but it was too late; the unicorn, which was accustomed to females rather than males, sensed Draco, and roughly kicked its front legs out at him, causing him to fall back on to the dirt.
“No!” Hagrid warned the creature, hurtling forwards and seizing Draco by his arms away from it.
“It’s okay! It’s okay..,” he heard you say softly.
You had neared the unicorn once more during its outburst, even as the rest of the students had hurried a safe distance away. You stroked the unicorn’s coat of fur gently from where you stood at its side, calming it down.
The class watched in astonishment as the unicorn obeyed your soft lulling, nuzzling further into your delicate touch.
As the class ended, Draco watched as you made your way back to the castle with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, the sounds of Ron saying, “That was brilliant!” and Hermione sharing the reasoning behind a unicorn’s historical discomfort around males that she’d read in Fantastic Beats and Where to Find Them following after you.
“To be completely honest with you, mate, if you don’t ask her out soon, I will,” Enzo said.
Soon enough, Draco realized that everyone was thinking along the same lines as Enzo. The story of how you’d tamed a unicorn during Hagrid’s class spread throughout the school the following day, with many people even expressing their shock. “I’m sorry, a Snape did that? Aren’t they the kind of lot that would, I don’t know, skin the unicorn alive instead?” they heard a Ravenclaw say during their Charms lesson.
Even the Hufflepuffs, who had a premeditated disdain for your father, were suddenly gawking at you the next few days.
“Just tell her the truth,” Pansy encouraged Draco, as she sat on the floor in front of one of the sofa’s of the common room.
“Yeah, tell her how you’re absolutely whipped for her,” Mattheo teased, dodging out of the way as Draco had launched a pillow at his head from where he sat on the sofa.
“Guys, be serious,” Enzo said on Draco’s behalf.
“We are!” Theo defended, as he cast a floating pink heart bubble into the air from the tip of his wand.
Draco reached forward, his slim finger popping the burst of pink. He rubbed a hand through his silver-blond hair, sighing loudly as he leaned back into the couch cushions.
“Just start off small, mate. Girls are weirdly enamoured by simple gestures,” Blaise suggested, clapping an encouraging hand on Draco’s shoulder.
Draco stared with his mouth agape after you, fighting the urge to strike Mattheo across the back of his thick head as he laughed behind him.
“We didn’t mean like that!” Theo said through his own hysterics, as Pansy, Blaise, and Enzo struggled to contain their own laughter.
Having taken Theo’s advice to heart, Draco had decided that the most effective way to, indirectly, ask for your attention was by planting a Boggart that he had nicked from the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor’s desk inside an empty classroom. As he had recruited Crabbe to help with his plan, his beaty foot had knocked you off your feet in the hallway, sending your books to the floor. Draco, who lurked behind the statute of an old wizard, swiped his wand lazily over one of your fallen books, sending it into the empty classroom. As you blushed furiously, you had made your way into the classroom, letting out a horrified shriek that echoed through the hallways.
Draco smirked to himself, making his way out from behind the statue towards the classroom, intent on ‘saving’ you. What he hadn’t expected was for Harry, Ron, and Hermione to come barreling through the hallway at the sound of your distress, Harry’s voice echoing through the halls as he protectively yelled out, “RIDDIKULUS!”
As he watched the four of you make your way out from the classroom, Harry’s arm wrapped around your shoulder, his face distorted with a bitter look of dejection.
Pansy cleared her throat. “May I suggest something?”
It appeared as if Harry, Ron, and Hermione had taken it upon themselves to always have at least one of them at your side at all times following your encounter with the Boggart. Draco stared bitterly at where you, Ron, and Hermione stood in the stands of the Quidditch pitch, sporting scarlet memorabilia alongside the rest of the Gryffindors.
He rubbed furiously at the handle of his broomstick, cleaning at a spot that had no signs of smudge. As Marcus Flint stared intently at the Gryffindor Captain, Draco glared menancingly at Harry. The sound of Madam Hooch’s whistle brought him back to earth, and the Quaffle was released, feet kicking off the muddy ground, broomsticks rising into the air.
“Rough start for Potter over there,” Lee Jordan commentated loudly throughout the pitch. It had taken Harry a few seconds to fly upwards into the air, as Mattheo had roughly bumped into his shoulder — a few valuable seconds that Draco had used to surmount his broomstick over the height of the pitch on the Slytherin side.
“Chaser Angelina Johnson’s in possession of the Quaffle — OOH, fantastic save by one of the Weasley twins, I think that was Fred? Or George — kind of difficult to tell from here..” Jordan said, as a Bludger had come barreling towards where Angelina Johnson flew from where Theo had aimed it.
Theo looked over at Draco, shooting him a curt nod. Blaise, who had just swerved away from one of the Gryffindor players in attempts of confusing him, and Mattheo, made their way over, following Theo’s lead.
Draco hitched the handle of his broomstick roughly forwards, aiming towards the stands filled in shades of scarlet and gold.
Many people shirked, dodging out of the way through frightened gasps. Hagrid swore loudly, stumbling backwards, stepping on the feet and colliding harshly with a group of small first-years.
“Blimey!” Ron Weasley shrieked, as he reached for Ginny’s hand, pulling her downwards to duck out of the way, Hermione doing the same to you.
“Oi! What was that?!” Seamus Finnigan roared, as yells of outrage flew from the mouths of the Gryffindor crowd.
Draco caught your gaze as you looked up at him with wide eyes from where you were crouched next to Hermione. He shot a sly wink your way, before indiscreetly reaching into the pocket of his emerald Quidditch robes, pulling out an enchanted piece of parchment. He dropped it from where he hovered, your hand quickly wrapping around the wrinkled sheaf before it could hit the floor.
He hurriedly turned back towards the match, catching sight of Blaise, Theo, and Mattheo crowded around Harry’s broomstick, blocking him from searching for the Golden Snitch.
You looked down at the sheaf of parchment, carefully unfolding it with trembling fingers outside of Hermione’s sight.
A drawing danced around the paper, the ink blotches from where the quill had met its surface moving around. It appeared to be a terribly drawn sketch of Draco flying on his broomstick as he neared a poorly drawn girl, hearts moving around her head. Before you could even wonder what the drawing was supposed to mean, it had vanished from your grasp in a heap of burned parchment.
You dropped the small burned remnants of the sheaf onto the ground of the stands, before looking for Draco once more.
It seemed that everyone else had also been preoccupied by Draco’s arrival, many people continuing to angrily blurt out, “He’s a bloody cheat!” Everyone’s attention was drawn back to the boy, however, at Lee Jordan’s shout of, “Malfoy’s leering dangerously close to the stands once more, he’s spotted the Snitch!”
Harry extracted himself from the huddle of Slytherin’s around him, barrelling after Draco to the calls of encouragement from the Gryffindors. Then …
“Malfoy’s caught the Snitch — SLYTHERIN WINS.”
Everyone around you groaned, Seamus Finnigan angrily throwing his red winter cap onto the floor as he swore. “THAT’S RUBBISH!” Fred and George Weasley yelled from the pitch, as many of the Gryffindors called for a re-match.
“They can’ just block him like ‘at!” Hagrid roared, as Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor’s sombrely made their way down to the grounds. “Come on,” Ron said, as you, Hermione, and Ginny made your way towards him.
As you barrelled through outraged Gryffindor’s, many of them yelling so furiously that their cheeks matched the shades of scarlet they wore, you were abruptly yanked by your arm by someone on the pitch.
“Pansy?” you asked, looking back at Ron, Hermione, and Ginny as they neared Harry, who looked as if he were to snap his broomstick in half.
“Come with me!” she giggled, pulling you by your arm towards the pitch.
She pulled you towards the Slytherin team, all of whom wore looks of triumph on their faces. Draco, however, was watching you and Pansy with a stern look on his face.
She pulled you towards him, stifled giggles continuing to fall from her lips. “Draco here has something he wants to tell you,” she said, before making her way over to Mattheo, Theo, and Blaise behind where the two of you stood.
You watched her as she left, before looking up at Draco, your eyes narrowed in confusion.
“Uhm,” he cleared his throat, “well, more so show you, actually,” he clarified. He pulled his wand out of his Quidditch robes, waving it with the tip aimed at the sky above the pitch.
Red sparks emitted from the tip, soaring high into the air. Many people gasped and pointed above, students proding their friends to draw their attention to the sight.
You looked up, squinting against the bright sparks that now spelled a message in the sky.
Don’t dwell on the conclusion, love
You looked at Draco with wide eyes, a blush beginning to creep across your cheeks. “I-I don’t understand..” you stuttered out, looking at him as his face shone with a red glow from the spell.
“It was kind of Pansy’s idea,” he said, as he looked down at the pitch to hide his own flushed skin. You looked over his shoulder at the girl, who giggled behind her hand. Enzo had also made his way onto the pitch, craning his neck to look at the sky with a look of astonishment on his face. Blaise stared at Draco as if he were already a dead-man walking. To the side of him, Mattheo and Theo were talking in hushed whispers, exchanging Galleons through a firm handshake.
“Look, I wasn’t really sure how to ask you at first, but, do you want to, maybe, go out together at the next Hogsmeade visit?” he asked. You looked up at him, conflicted, yet also shocked at how uncertain Draco seemed at this moment; the same boy who had just confidently won the Quidditch match for his House. You smiled softly at him, nodding your speechless approval.
You looked towards the Slytherin side of the pitch, spotting a familiar silhouette of long black robes and greasy black hair. Snape was sitting in a raised seat of the stands alongside some of the other Professors; Dumbledore acted as if he noticed nothing unusual, whereas Flitwick admired Draco’s spell work. Snape stared down at you with a thin line of lips, his body language stern.
You gasped, stepping a few steps back from Draco. “Draco, my father..” you said. It was no secret that Snape was overly protective of his daughter, and considering Draco as one of his favourite students wouldn’t lessen this burden.
“Don’t worry about that, love,” he said, “that’s a problem for later.” Yet, by the way his face started to become more and more red outside from just the fading sparks of the message, you knew that he was just as worried as you were.
notes ⋆. 𐙚 ₊˚ yeah so i had noo idea how to end this, but thank you for the request, anon !! hot take — if harry had been born a girl, snape would have been murdering people left and right on lily’s behalf
𝓗𝐎𝐆𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 𝓛𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 — @oopsiedaisydeer @drcamin
if interested in joining the harry potter taglist, click here ♡
— Draco’s Christmas Eve drags you into last-minute shopping to help him find the perfect gift for Narcissa.
"This is beneath me."
You didn't bother looking up from the shop window display of enchanted snow globes, each one containing a miniature winter scene that shifted and changed every few seconds. "You've said that four times in the last ten minutes, Draco."
"Because it bears repeating." His tone was arctic, matching the bite of wind that swept down Diagon Alley. "Malfoys do not engage in last-minute Christmas shopping like common—"
"Like common people who forgot their mother's gift?" you supplied sweetly, finally turning to face him.
Draco's pale cheeks flushed, though whether from cold or irritation, you couldn't quite tell. His grey eyes narrowed dangerously. "I didn't forget. I merely... postponed the selection process."
"It's Christmas Eve."
"I'm aware of the date, thank you."
"The shops close in two hours."
"Also aware."
You bit back a smile at his clipped responses. Draco Malfoy, for all his carefully constructed superiority, looked remarkably out of his element surrounded by the chaos of holiday shoppers. His expensive black coat was buttoned to his throat, his posture rigid as he surveyed the crowded street with barely concealed disdain.
"Right then," you said briskly, linking your arm through his before he could protest. "Let's find something for Narcissa before you freeze to death out here from sheer stubbornness."
He stiffened at the contact but didn't pull away—progress, you noted. "I don't need help selecting a gift for my own mother."
"Really? Because you've been standing on this corner for fifteen minutes looking like you're planning an escape route."
"I was strategizing."
"You were panicking."
"Malfoys don't panic." But his jaw tightened in that way that meant you'd hit uncomfortably close to the truth.
You steered him toward Twilfitt and Tatting's, the upscale clothier where Draco would at least feel somewhat in his natural habitat. The shop was blessedly warm, smelling of expensive fabric and subtle perfume. A house-elf appeared immediately, eyes widening at the sight of the Malfoy heir.
"Master Malfoy! How may Twilfitt and Tatting's serve you today?"
Draco's shoulders relaxed incrementally, his mask of aristocratic composure sliding back into place. "I require a gift. For my mother. Something... appropriate."
The house-elf's ears drooped slightly at the vague request, and you stepped in smoothly. "Do you have any new silk scarves? Preferably in silver or deep green?"
"Oh yes, miss! Just received a shipment from Paris yesterday. Very fine quality, charmed to maintain perfect temperature. This way, please!"
As the elf scurried toward the accessories section, Draco leaned down, his breath warm against your ear. "I could have handled that."
"You were about to say 'something expensive' and hope for the best."
"That's a perfectly valid approach."
"For someone who doesn't know your mother adores French silk and always complains about being cold in the Manor during winter."
He stopped walking, genuine surprise flickering across his features. "How did you—"
"I pay attention, Draco." You met his gaze steadily. "Unlike some people who pretend they're too important to notice details about the people they care about."
Something shifted in his expression—a crack in the carefully maintained facade. For a moment, he looked younger, almost vulnerable. Then he cleared his throat, glancing away. "The green one. With the silver threading."
The house-elf was already presenting an array of scarves, each more luxurious than the last. Draco's fingers hovered over a particularly stunning piece—deep emerald silk with delicate silver embroidery that caught the light like frost on glass.
"That one," you confirmed, watching his face. "It matches her favorite winter robes."
He picked it up with surprising reverence, the silk pooling in his pale hands. "She wore those the last Christmas before—" He cut himself off abruptly, jaw clenching.
Before the war. Before everything changed.
You touched his arm gently. "She'll love it."
Draco's eyes met yours, and for once, there was no sneer, no performative disdain. Just exhaustion and something that might have been gratitude. "Yes. I believe she will."
The transaction was completed with Malfoy efficiency—no expense spared, gift wrapping included. As you stepped back into the cold, the wrapped box tucked securely under Draco's arm, he surprised you by not immediately Apparating away.
"Thank you," he said stiffly, not quite meeting your eyes. "For... accompanying me."
"Was that an actual thank you? Should I mark the calendar?"
His mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but close. "Don't let it go to your head."
"Too late." You grinned up at him, enjoying the way color crept back into his cheeks. "Same time next year?"
"Absolutely not. I'll have my shopping completed by October."
"Sure you will."
"I will."
"We'll see." You started walking backward, still facing him. "Merry Christmas, Draco."
He watched you for a long moment, snowflakes beginning to drift down around him, settling on his pale hair like tiny stars. "Merry Christmas," he finally said, so quietly you almost missed it.
Then he turned sharply, robes billowing dramatically—because of course they did—and Disapparated with a soft crack.
You smiled to yourself, already making a mental note about next December.
Draco Malfoy x Reader
– You said yes to the wrong boy and Draco Malfoy proves exactly why that was a mistake.
2.5 wc
The Slytherin common room was quieter than usual for a Friday evening, the crackling fire casting dancing shadows across the dark leather furniture. You sat curled in your usual spot on the sofa nearest the hearth, Potions textbook balanced on your knees, though you hadn't turned a page in the last ten minutes.
"You're doing it again."
Draco's voice cut through your distraction. He didn't even look up from his own work, quill scratching steadily across his parchment.
"Doing what?" you asked, though you knew exactly what he meant.
"That thing where you stare at the same page and pretend to read while your mind is clearly elsewhere." Now he did look up, grey eyes sharp and assessing. "What's wrong?"
This was the problem with having Draco Malfoy as your closest friend for the past five years - he noticed everything. Every shift in your mood, every hesitation, every carefully constructed lie before you even opened your mouth to tell it.
"Adrian Pucey asked me to Hogsmeade tomorrow," you said finally, closing your textbook with a soft thump.
Draco's quill stopped moving. The silence stretched just a beat too long before he said, with studied casualness, "And?"
"And I said yes."
You watched his jaw tighten almost imperceptibly. He set down his quill with deliberate care, leaning back in his chair with that particular brand of aristocratic indifference he'd perfected over the years.
"Pucey." The name left his mouth like something distasteful. "Interesting choice."
"He's nice enough," you said defensively, though you weren't entirely sure why you felt the need to defend Adrian to Draco. "He's been friendly all term."
"Oh, I'm sure he has." Draco's tone was carefully neutral, but you caught the edge beneath it. "Seventh year Slytherin, decent at Quidditch, comes from old money. Ticks all the boxes, doesn't he?"
"Don't be like that."
"Like what? I'm simply observing." He picked up his quill again, but made no move to actually use it. "Though I should mention that Pucey has rather a reputation."
Your stomach tightened. "What kind of reputation?"
Draco met your eyes, and something flickered in his expression - something that looked almost like concern, though he'd never admit it. "The kind where girls tend to regret accepting his invitations. But I'm sure you'll be fine. You're a smart witch."
The words should have been reassuring. Instead, they settled in your chest like a cold stone.
"If you don't want me to go, just say so," you said quietly.
For a moment, Draco looked as though he might do exactly that. His fingers tightened around his quill, and you saw the muscles in his throat work as he swallowed. But then that familiar mask slid back into place - cool, composed, untouchable.
"Don't be absurd. Your social calendar is hardly my concern." He returned his attention to his parchment. "Enjoy your date."
The dismissal stung more than it should have.
---
The Three Broomsticks was warm and crowded, condensation fogging the windows as students sought refuge from the late October chill. Adrian had secured a corner booth, and he smiled as you approached - a charming smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"You look beautiful," he said, standing to help you with your cloak.
"Thank you." You slid into the booth, trying to ignore the uncomfortable twist in your stomach. This was fine. This was normal. Just a date in Hogsmeade like hundreds of students had been on before.
So why did you keep thinking about the look on Draco's face last night?
Adrian ordered butterbeers for you both, keeping up a steady stream of conversation. He was attentive, complimentary, asking questions about your classes and your plans after Hogwarts. On paper, it was going well.
But something felt off.
"I took the liberty of adding a little something extra," Adrian said when the butterbeers arrived, pulling a small flask from his pocket with a conspiratorial grin. "My father's private collection. Makes everything taste better."
He poured a measure of amber liquid into both glasses before you could respond. The sweet smell of butterscotch mixed with something sharper, more medicinal.
"I'm not sure—" you started.
"Come on, just a bit of fun. We're of age, aren't we?" His smile widened, but there was an edge to it now. "Unless you're scared?"
Pride - your fatal flaw, Draco always said - made you reach for your glass. "Of course not."
The first sip burned pleasantly down your throat, warmth spreading through your chest. The second sip went down easier. By the third, you'd finished half the glass, and the edges of the world had gone soft and hazy.
"There we go," Adrian said, and his voice seemed to come from very far away. "Much better, isn't it?"
You tried to respond, but your tongue felt thick, your thoughts scattered like leaves in wind. The pub was too warm suddenly, too bright, the noise pressing in from all sides.
"I think—" You blinked slowly, trying to focus. "I don't feel quite right."
"You just need some fresh air." Adrian's hand was on your arm, pulling you up from the booth. Your legs didn't quite want to work properly. "Come on, there's a quiet spot just outside."
The cold air hit your face like a slap, but it didn't clear your head the way it should have. If anything, everything felt more disconnected, your body moving through thick syrup. Adrian's arm was around your waist now, leading you down a side street, away from the crowds.
"Where are we going?" The words came out slurred.
"Somewhere we can talk properly." His voice had changed, lost its veneer of charm. "You've been driving me mad all term, you know. Walking around in that skirt, laughing with Malfoy like you're something special."
Warning bells were ringing somewhere in the back of your mind, but you couldn't quite grasp why. Your back hit cold stone - a wall - and then Adrian was there, too close, his breath hot on your face.
"You're so beautiful," he murmured, and then his mouth was on yours.
You tried to push him away, but your arms wouldn't cooperate. His hands were in your hair, on your waist, and you felt utterly disconnected from your own body, a passenger with no control.
"Stop," you managed to whisper against his lips, but he either didn't hear or didn't care.
"Pucey."
The voice cut through the fog like a knife - cold, sharp, absolutely furious.
Adrian jerked back, and you would have fallen if the wall wasn't holding you up. Through your blurred vision, you could make out a familiar pale figure striding toward you, wand already drawn.
"Malfoy." Adrian's voice had lost all its smoothness. "This doesn't concern you."
"Remove your hands from her. Now." Draco's wand was pointed directly at Adrian's chest, and there was something deadly in his expression that you'd never seen before. "Or I'll remove them for you."
"We're just having a bit of fun—"
"Does she look like she's having fun?" Draco took another step forward, and Adrian actually backed up. "What did you give her?"
"Nothing she didn't drink willingly—"
The hex was nonverbal, so fast you barely saw Draco move. Adrian crashed backward into the opposite wall with a yelp of pain, clutching his ribs.
"Wrong answer." Draco's voice was soft now, which somehow made it more terrifying. "What. Did. You. Give. Her."
"Just some Firewhisky," Adrian gasped. "And maybe a drop of Amortentia, but—"
He didn't get to finish. Draco's next spell sent him sprawling in the snow, and then Draco was there, grabbing you as your legs finally gave out completely.
"I've got you," he said, and his voice had transformed entirely - gentle now, worried. "You're alright. I've got you."
You wanted to tell him you knew he did, that you'd always known, but the darkness was pulling you under.
The last thing you felt was Draco's arms around you, holding you like you were something precious.
---
You woke in the Hospital Wing with a pounding headache and a mouth that tasted like dragon dung. Weak afternoon sunlight filtered through the high windows, and you blinked slowly, trying to piece together what had happened.
"You're awake."
Draco was sitting in a chair beside your bed, still in his Hogsmeade clothes from yesterday. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, his usually immaculate hair disheveled.
"How long—?"
"Eighteen hours." His voice was hoarse. "Madam Pomfrey said the combination of the love potion and whatever else he slipped you was dangerous. You could have—" He stopped, jaw clenching. "You've been unconscious since I brought you back."
Memory came flooding back in sickening waves. Adrian's smile. The drink. The alley. His hands on you.
"I'm sorry," you whispered.
"Sorry?" Draco's eyes flashed. "What in Merlin's name do you have to be sorry for?"
"You warned me. You told me Pucey had a reputation, and I went anyway, and—"
"And he drugged you." Draco stood abruptly, starting to pace. "That bastard drugged you, and if I hadn't—" His hands clenched into fists. "I should have done more than hex him. I should have—"
"How did you know?" you interrupted. "How did you know to come find me?"
Draco stopped pacing, his back to you. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. "I followed you."
"What?"
"I couldn't—" He turned to face you, and there was something raw and unguarded in his expression. "I tried to stay away. Told myself it was your choice, your life, none of my concern. I lasted approximately twenty minutes before I was walking to Hogsmeade like a pathetic fool."
Your heart was beating too fast. "Draco—"
"I've been following you around like a lost puppy for five years," he continued, the words spilling out now like he couldn't stop them. "Sitting with you in the common room every night. Walking you to class even when it makes me late to my own. Hexing anyone who so much as looks at you wrong. And I told myself it was just friendship, that I simply valued your company, but the truth is—"
He stopped, dragging a hand through his hair.
"The truth is I was jealous," he finished quietly. "When you said you were going out with Pucey, I wanted to destroy something. Because the thought of anyone else touching you, kissing you, making you smile the way you smile at me—" He laughed bitterly. "I couldn't stand it."
You pushed yourself up in the bed, ignoring the way the room spun slightly. "Then why didn't you say something?"
"Because you deserve better than me." The words came out sharp, almost angry. "You deserve someone who isn't carrying around their family's reputation like a curse. Someone who doesn't have the Dark Mark waiting for them the moment they turn seventeen. Someone—"
"Draco, stop."
He fell silent, watching you with those storm-grey eyes.
"I didn't want to go out with Adrian," you said softly. "I said yes because I was tired of waiting for you to notice that I—" You took a shaky breath. "That I've been in love with you since fourth year."
The silence that followed was deafening. Draco stared at you like you'd just spoken Mermish.
"You—what?"
"I'm in love with you, you impossible git." The words came easier now, rushing out. "I have been for years. Why do you think I spend every evening in the common room with you? Why I laugh at your terrible jokes and let you copy my Potions notes and—"
You didn't get to finish because Draco was there, kneeling beside your bed, his hands cradling your face with a gentleness that made your chest ache.
"Say it again," he whispered.
"I love you."
He kissed you then, soft and careful like you might break, and it was nothing like Adrian's assault in the alley. This was reverent, worshipful, Draco's hands trembling slightly as they cupped your jaw. You kissed him back, fingers tangling in his hair, and he made a sound low in his throat that sent warmth flooding through you.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes were bright.
"I'm going to spend the rest of our lives making sure you never regret this," he said fiercely. "You understand? I'll be whatever you need me to be. I'll—"
"Draco." You smiled, thumb brushing across his cheekbone. "I just need you to be you. That's all I've ever needed."
He kissed you again, deeper this time, and you felt him smile against your lips.
"Well then," he murmured. "I suppose I can manage that."
"What happened to Adrian?" you asked when you finally came up for air, Draco having climbed carefully onto the bed beside you.
His expression darkened. "Expelled. Snape wanted to give him detention, but when Dumbledore heard what happened—what could have happened—" His arm tightened around you. "He's lucky that's all he got. If I'd had my way—"
"My hero," you said softly, and watched pink color his pale cheeks.
"Hardly. I should have hexed him the moment he asked you out."
"That seems extreme."
"You don't understand." Draco turned to face you fully, his expression serious. "When I saw him touching you, and you couldn't even push him away, I've never felt rage like that. I wanted to kill him. I would have, if getting thrown in Azkaban meant leaving you alone."
The intensity in his voice made your breath catch. You'd always known Draco was protective of the people he cared about - had seen him hex other students for far less than what Adrian had done - but this was different. This was personal.
"I'm okay," you said, threading your fingers through his. "Because of you, I'm okay."
"You're more than okay." He lifted your joined hands, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "You're everything."
"That's quite romantic for a Malfoy."
"Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain." But he was smiling now, that rare, genuine smile he only ever showed you. "Though I suppose that reputation is ruined now. Everyone saw me carry you back to the castle like some kind of knight in a Muggle fairy tale."
"How horrifying for you."
"Absolutely devastating." He pulled you closer, and you rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. "Though I'd do it again in a heartbeat. I'd do anything for you."
"I know," you whispered. "I've always known."
You lay there together as the afternoon light faded to evening, Draco's fingers tracing idle patterns on your arm, and for the first time in years, everything felt right. No more pretending. No more careful distance. Just truth, finally spoken.
"We should probably tell Madam Pomfrey you're awake," Draco said eventually. "She's been checking on you every hour."
"Five more minutes."
"Demanding little thing, aren't you?"
"You love it."
"I do." He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "Merlin help me, I really do."
And wrapped in his arms, safe and warm and loved, you couldn't help but think that even the worst date in history had been worth it - if it meant finally ending up here.
birthday boy - draco x draco's girl!reader x theo.
all characters written aged up 18+
tw: cheating, sex, smoking
your boyfriend had been struggling for weeks on end to think of the perfect birthday gift for his best friend's 18th. so when the idea, finally hit him harder than the rogue bludger did during last week's quidditch match - draco found it impossible to dislodge it from his head.
it was a wednesday afternoon just before your free study period when he cornered you in the corridor just outside of the charms classroom. you'd been standing and chatting with friends about this weekends plans to head into hogsmeade when he rather charmingly approached; smiling as sweet as the devil at the other ladies who had surrounded you and suggested the two of you find a place a little more - discreet - for a chat.
excusing yourself from your friends with a soft sigh - which they however didn't buy, draco curled his slim fingers possessively around your wrist and dragged you off with a littler of comments like 'god, he's so romantic' and 'i wish i had a guy like him', following as echoes.
draco brushed his thumb across your pulls before dropping your hand and his own to pluck out a packet of cigarettes from his robe pocket. menthols - the kind where you pop the capsule in the filter to enhance the flavour. his choice this week - dunhill's. the court yard that he'd brought you to was both empty at this time of day and well secluded.
"i've decided on what to give theo for his birthday this year", draco mentioned as he took a drag and exhaled a plume of smoke straight into your face whilst moving to cage you in with a hand on either side of your head against the wall behind where you stood. his tall, muscular frame from years of quidditch training and weight lifting which he swore wasn't his thing (however you knew otherwise) towering you like sin. a chuckle escaped from his lips both amused and lethal as his icy grey eyes stared straight through you. arching a brow higher than you'd expected to, it took a few seconds for your heartbeat to kickstart over before you could say or do anything more.
"drae, do i want to know?"
your boyfriend shot you the same look that he did whenever he was fucking around with you as his plaything and smirked wickedly. twirling the cigarette in hand he clutched loosely, draco grabbed a hold of your chin, ashing out the cigarette against your jaw with a tap and chuckled again. this time; the sound was both warped and indecent.
"i want you to fuck him."
had you of been walking back through the castle corridors rather than standing still in the courtyard when you heard draco say that, you'd have bet your bottom dollar that you would have stilled so suddenly a third year would have crashed into the back of you. blood draining from your face, you tried to read your boyfriend's expression as best you could to see if he was actually being serious about this conversation and not pulling your leg; however draco's expression was libertine at best.
"y-you want me to do what?" you had to make sure that you were hearing things clearly. perhaps draco was speaking in tongues or latin or some dead romantic language that only slytherin elite would know of rather than english. draco's lips split into a smile; one of all teeth. the grin vicious.
"theodore turns eighteen tomorrow and he's still a virgin. it's fucking embarrassing. for him, for me by association, for slytherin and all bloodlines which run pure through it and you, my darling are going to fix that." turning his head to the side slightly, draco took another drag and moved both hands to rest on your shoulders. the touch felt heavy rather than heavenly.
"you're being serious?"
you stared at draco. draco had no choice but to stare back. his eyes flickered with a glitter of winter steel through them; fitting that you were already half way through november. he tilted his head almost comically before answering you; still wearing that vicious grin.
"deadly, my darling." he took a step in closer; the heels of his boots scraping the stone floor of the courtyard with a poetic swipe as he crowded you in against the wall. your spine straightened; out of recognition of the relationship the two of you had rather than fear - his voice dropping to that register he used whenever he was getting hard just from saying filthy things to you. boring a knee between your legs, you parted them with a step and gasped when you felt his cock firm beneath his trousers press stiff amid your thighs.
"friday night. the room of requirement. you're going to wear that silky little green number you bought for pansy's slutty soiree or whatever it was that she called it and let him have you", he further explained. "just once. nott will nut in about thirty seconds. then you come back to my dorm and tell me every, single, detail while i decide whether or not i want to fuck you so hard you forget what occurred."
"and you -- trust me not to fall for him?" you ask - half teasing however mostly curious. as you spoke, a shiver jolted through your body that had nothing to do with the winter draft that blew through. draco slid one hand from your shoulder up to the middle of your throat and squeezed rough enough to force you to gulp as he ran his thumb across a mark he'd left on your neck two nights ago that was healing rather nicely.
"i trust that you'll remember who you belong to, love", he murmured; leaning in to graze his lips against your earlobe. "i trust you to take what i give you and crawl back begging for more, and i really, really trust that theodore is so far secretly gone for you, that he'll come the first time you put your mouth on him."
you shouldn't have been turned on like this. fuck.
"you're a monster malfoy", you laugh breathlessly.
"your monster", he corrects before pressing languid, parted lip kisses down the slope of your neck that make your knees begin to buckle beneath you. that merlin he's holding you up by your throat. your fingers clench into your palms - nails digging in so that you're not tempted to reach out and touch draco and try to keep some restraint on this power imbalance you always fall into. "say yes, darling."
and not being able to protest - you do.
you're now counting down the hours until friday night and when it finally arrives; boy, does it hit you like a fever dream. you're standing in the middle of your dorm, draco in front of you - dressing you as he sees fit in that emerald green silk slip that barely counts as clothing; deciding last minute that a bra isn't needed. he kneels down, holding out a pair of panties for you to step into and runs his tongue up your thighs as he lifts the black lace fabric onto you. there's a deliberate slowness to his actions. he's trying to turn you on prior to your little rendezvous with theodore - however, little does he know; you won't need it.
plucking from your bedside table top drawer your jewellery box, draco selects the locket he gifted you for valentine's day earlier in the year with his initials carved in as ownership and hooks it around your neck before dropping his head to kiss just above the pendant at the hollow of your neck. "perfect. no - go make theodore feel like a king and then come find me back at my dorm. once you enter, you'll have twenty seconds to start talking and make yourself comfortable on your knees."
the walk from the dungeons to the room of requirement feels longer than it should. you're nervous although you shouldn't be. apprehensive perhaps. this is just theodore - your boyfriends best friend who has pined over you yet not said a single word although the whole castle knew. theodore was more than just rather attractive - you'd give him that. polite, well spoken, academically inclined; an overall gentleman. this would be easy. a quick suck, a quick fuck and back into your usual friday night routine.
when you arrived, the room had transfigured itself into exactly what the two of you would need tonight. low lights which flickered deep shades of both amber and gold, an oversized bed with a mattress which immediately sunk the moment you touched it; a bottle of ogden's and two glasses. kicking your heels off beside the bed, you're about to pour two glasses for liquid courage - thinking theodore might need it - when you hear him walk in.
the thick black shag rug you stood on with bare feet made more noise than he did as theodore cleared his throat with a taut cough. "draco - um..", his voice broke; that italian twang he usually tried so desperately to cover croaking through instantly. you turned your head to look at him with a small smile; the sound of whiskey filling glasses washing through the room.
"draco?", you prompted; placing the bottle down and picking both glasses up. you took a sip from your own while holding the other out for theodore. it almost seemed as if he had to kick himself to step forward and take it, his usual reserved baby blue eyes blowing wide at the way your dress clung to every line of your silhouette.
theodore drank the entire contents of the glass in a single sip.
"said. um; he - he said that you - that you, want", he couldn't help but repeat himself as his eyes gazed at the way your tits just hung behind the emerald fabric free. he coughed again to clear his throat. "that you wanted to talk. about exam revision or - an essay or.."
the smile which crept onto your face now mimicked draco's from the other day - slow forming and rather wicked. "he lied, nott. sorry."
watching as theodore's gaze flickered towards the bed and then back to you dressed with a cocktail mix of both hunger and panic wearying across his gorgeous features, you decided it was probably best to put him out of his misery.
"draco knows i'm here - like this", you explain softly. "he arranged it theodore. it's his gift. happy birthday for yesterday by the way." the acknowledgement earns you from theodore a boyish grin before he unceremoniously choked back an overfilled swallow. it was so hard that you heard it.
"and you.. - agreed?"
it was as if even as draco's best friend, theodore wasn't aware of the arrangements that the two of you had.
"of course", you murmured beneath your breath as you took a step forward; stepping in close enough to theo that the heat from his body licked across your skin. "i always agree when draco tells me to do something depraved and tonight; he told me as a gift - that i was to take care of you."
you swore black and blue internally that upon finishing that sentence, you witnessed the italian's brain short circuit. his body tensed up, his shoulders becoming rigid. theodore's hands shifted slightly; hovering in front of him nervously, as if unsure whether or not touching was allowed. you solved his problem for him, reaching out to grab a hold of his hands and guided his palms to your waist; letting him feel the tremors which were not only running through him but also through you.
"i've uh - want, wanted.. wanted this for years", he admitted in a broken rush; poking the tip of his tongue out to swipe across his bottom lip. "every time malfoy's kissed you in front of me, i've died on the inside more than i'd like to admit."
to hear the admission as almost too good to be true. rising with a push up on your toes, you let your body do the work you know your mind may have over processed - your lips finding theodore's own with a kiss that was so soft and near timid to distract him before guilt could take hold. theodore kissed you back like a boy who had been starved of opportunity. desperate, reverent, a little clumsy.
cute.
he made a sound which was half whimper, half groan as you coaxed the kiss to deepen. your tongue licking his bottom lip in a coax to have him melt against you as his hold began to tighten; his fingers digging at your waist hard enough to leave bruises where draco's had only just begun to heal. when your teeth nipped at his lip, he fought hard, yet lost to the softest noise escaping from the back of his throat. with a half step, you guided theodore to walk you back towards the bed as he translated years of longing into more heated touch.
when his fingers finally ounced up the courage to slip beneath your dress; they ran across your thighs, and by sheer exploration came across the damp pool of your panties that caused him to groan deliciously. you dropped back onto the bed; grabbing at theodore's shirt to pull him down on top of you and watched as he shifted - still hesitant - between your thighs as they parted. rocking your hips against his own - the two of you moaned simultaneously; he with a groan and you with his name that caused the boy to buck.
with a curiosity, theodore slid down the straps of your dress from your shoulders, watching as the silk fabric pooled down your chest and towards your waist as you shimmied against the mattress. his inquisitive hands grabbed straight at your breasts, massaging them with a squeeze that caused you to throw your head back. before you knew it, his lips had latched onto one of your nipples; sucking at the bud to stiffen it into a peak. your hands finding their way to tangle within his messy brown half waves; you yanked him up with a guide high enough that you could kiss him again.
'tonight isn't about you - it's about the birthday boy.' you had to remind yourself why you were here. hooking one of your legs around his waist; you rolled yourselves over - theodore now with his back against the bed and you straddling his narrow hips; watching from above as his eyes began to darken cobalt blue. your dress shifted lower down your body, now pooling at your hips. lifting your hands up, you raked them through the length of your hair and bit your lip as you gazed down at him. theodore was most definitely having the ultimate teenage fantasy.
rather than teasing him; you reached down and grabbed a hold of his shirt; fingers weaving between the buttons and tore it open; buttons popping to either side before you dragged your nails down his muscular chest. hell; he wasn't as buff as draco but fuck, you began to salivate when you noticed the v-line beneath his abs disappear past the waistband of his jeans. falling forward to now be on all fours; with your hands finding their way to skim down theodore's sides, your lips peppered an intricate trail of kisses down his skin - fingers putting themselves to use as they skilfully undid his belt buckle with a seasoned flick of the wrist - teeth following to grab a hold of his zipper and pull it down provocatively. your nose ticked against his snail trail and you felt the way he shifted with a quiver beneath you. hand slipping shamelessly down past his waistband, you grabbed a hold of his cock and helped pry it past his boxers to freedom.
an already hard eight inch cock with a throbbing vein running up the underside of the shaft greeted you pleasantly. the corners of your eyes watered as you stuck your tongue out flat and ran it up the length from base to head; flicking the tip across the crown to get a taste of his precum. theodore's hands clawed against the bed sheets as he half tried to sit up so that he could get a better view of what you were doing.
"you've had a girl suck you off before right?"
his pupils blew up at the question as theodore shook his head shyly.
"i um. sort of. not - not really. i - she.. she jerked me off instead."
"well that's no fun", you giggled, lips curling over the fat mushroom head for you to start sucking at. you maintained eye contact him with, watching as theo squirmed and internally screamed. "i don't think the girls around the castle know what they're missing. what? eight inches of fun..", you part measured using your palm. "there's a lot that you can do with this."
theodore began to pant. you'd only sucked twice and he was already starting to whimper. "no, no, no." you moved your hand to wrap at the base of his cock and squeezed firmly enough to keep him settled and tame. shimmying to rid yourself of the dress that had caught around your hips, you crawled up; gesturing for theodore to slide your panties down your thighs which he very much obliged and set yourself up above him so that when reaching down with a hold of his cock, you could run tip between your soaking folds.
"god, this is going to be good."
lowering yourself down with a hiss - half yours, half theodore's; you paused for a moment, allowing him to get used to the sensation (while, let's be honest - also savouring this for yourself) before you began to rise up and sink down in a rhythm you thought he'd be okay with. theo's hands found their way from your waist down to your hips and then around to your plump ass, giving it a squeeze as you rocked against him. an ache in your stomach hit quicker than you wanted it to. theodore innocently bucked his hips up; chasing the sensation as he hissed in a sharp breath and exhaled a grunt you were proud of plucking from him.
"theodore, slow down.."
"nuuhh - feels so fucking good.."
"baby, you're gonna come to fast-."
"so we'll go again."
"draco said only once.."
"screw draco."
without warning, you felt theodore's cock begin to twitch and jerk inside of you as you continued to ride him; a warm sensation at your core as his load, hot and thick painted your walls - spilling out when his cock slipped from your cunt and squirted a spray across your legs, up your ass and almost onto your back. without warning, theodore flipped the two of you over and after using a wandless engorgement charm, fattened up his cock ram into your pussy again. you cried out a gasp as he began to rail into you. burying his face into the crook of your neck, theodore bit your shoulder hard enough to make you scream and scratch your nails down his back - wearing a growl as his hands grabbed a hold of your thighs and lifted them to deepen the angle.
each of his thrusts pounded into you delightfully to the hilt, almost causing you to split opened. you hadn't expected the virgin to be rough.
"pussy's mine", he ragged cold causing your eyes to roll back as you got closer and closer to your peak. you drop a hand down to your clit, about to rub it to assist with chasing your high however theodore smacked your hand out of the way his fingers circling roughly at your bundle of sensitive nerves as your back arched off the bed and you screamed his name - vision going as white. pulling out, theodore crawled down the bed, burying his face between your thighs and speared his tongue in and out of your entrance as he grinded and rutted against the mattress. you followed soon after with an orgasm brought on by the way he sucked your folds and kissed at your sensitive clit.
collapsing against the bed; your tits swelled and rose with the heavy breaths you took as theodore crawled up beside you; resting an arm lazily across your stomach as his fingertips played with your clit as you tried to settle yourself. a cheeky grin crept across his lips.
"we should do this more often." oh god - he wasn't catching feelings was he? "t'was fun."
you wanted to agree, god - did you ever want to fucking agree, but knew you had to set up boundaries. this was meant to be a one time thing. a gift. you were meant to fuck him. he wasn't meant to be in control. god damn slytherin men.
"theodore, i--."
"draco doesn't have to know."
"-but-."
"once a week. we can meet up to 'study'."
once a week. that was manageable. what draco wouldn't know, wouldn't hurt him right?
letting theodore cuddle into your side for the full 'birthday' experience, you brushed your hand through his hair, toying with the locks as his exhausted self slowly fell asleep. feeling his body become heavy, you slipped out from beneath his hold and glanced down at the ruins of the bed, the way his hair fell messily against the pillows, theodore's swollen lips; the way he seemed relaxed and at peace. bending down, you pressed a gentle kiss to his temple before quietly making your exit.
back at draco's dorm, he was waiting for you exactly as he said he'd be - in a chair, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a frustrated guide cast across his face with annoyance. he had his trousers undone; cock in his hands that he stroked steadily. you slipped in and shut the door quietly behind you, twisting the lock for privacy. the green dress was crumpled but on; the straps at your shoulders highlighting a bite mark for draco. just a torment of what theodore and yourself had gotten up to.
"what the fuck took you so long?", draco asked as he tilted his head, eyes raking over the rest of your body as you made your way over to him obediently and dropped to your knees like the good girl that you were. you didn't say a word. the look in draco's eyes - cold and heavy shifted to a warm grey littered with stars. this arrangement of a 'gift' hadn't been for theodore. this whole thing had been for draco's ego. proof that no matter who touched you, who begged for you, who perfectly fit inside of you - that you'd always come crawling back to the boy who owned you.
"i've been waiting impatiently for the last fucking half an hour. do you know how uncomfortable it is to rub one out when i usually have your hand around my cock for shit like this?", he asked.
"do you want to know about tonight?", you asked, avoiding his question.
draco snickered and stood up, cock still being pumped in his hand as he took a step forward.
"open that fucking mouth of yours and let me use it as a bin. want to watch you choke on this load before i have to listen to the sad details of how theodore failed to fuck you properly."
failed?
ha.
you smirked as you opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue for the feed.
if only draco knew.
i'll be honest, i have no idea what my brain decided to do. i just kept typing. so here's 3.8k words of indulgent smut that i'll edit later because it's way past bedtime. enjoy. oh and thank you to @riddlemelater who helped spark the idea from a chat we had.
can you do a draco smut where him & female reader are ex’s and she walk in on draco fucking another girl at a party and she’s all heart broke n jealous but plays it cool. and later at the party they’re playing truth or dare and she’s asked about who out of like 3 guys (draco is one) is best in bed & she says draco 😳 and they just crinkly fuck? sorry for being rlly specific imma horny bitch
Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader
Word Count: 2.6k
Blurb: They admit that the other was the best fuck they’ve had and they relive that once more. Contains choking, blowjobs, fingering and sex and lots of dirty talk and calling the reader a slut
A/N: I love a good Draco Malfoy smut, thank you. Reader is in slytherin because it just fits with the story. Also this has not been proofread :/ I feel like this isn’t my best, but I tried :(
Masterlist
“Oh, uh,” I didn’t know whether to focus on the heat rising to my cheeks or the sinking feeling in my tummy, “I’m sorry,” I couldn’t look away.
“Get out!” His voice brought me back to reality and I quickly shut the classroom door. I started walking down the hall, not really knowing where I was going. All I could think of was the way his hands were pushing her skirt up and the way her hands were tugging in his hair and all I could think of was how that used to be me.
Deciding to go to the bathroom, I splashed a bit of water on my face, refusing to let any tears fall from my eyes. Draco and I had stopped seeing each other for six months now, he could do whatever he wanted to do. Or do whoever.
I closed my eyes and focused on my breath, forcing my heaving chest to slow down. I took one last look at my reflection and before trying to fix my hair I stood up straighter and walked out.
We were broken up and Draco didn’t need to know that he still had any effect on me.
“Where were you?” Pansy asked me as I sat down next to her at the Great Hall.
“Bathroom.”
“What’s wrong?” I wasn’t looking at her but I could tell she was staring at me expectantly.
“I walked in on Draco fucking another girl,” okay maybe they weren’t fucking, but they were going to if I hadn’t been so naive to think that someone was crying in the classroom.
Pansy was a good person to tell a story like this to, if you were her friend. Pansy gasped at all the right times and gave me a sympathetic look when I needed it and was able to tell me all the information I needed to know about the mystery girl who I didn’t know even existed until about half an hour ago.
Almost as soon as Pansy had finished speaking the rest of our friends in Slytherin were making their way over, including Draco.
They sat across from us and I refused to look up in fear that I would make eye contact with him.
They spoke and ate but Draco and I barely said a word and I hated that I knew him so well that I already knew that he was embarrassed and was turning that into anger.
We made out way back to the Common Room after dinner and Blaise convinced us all to stay together and play a game of truth of dare.
“Really Blaise?” Pansy had asked, rolling her eyes when he had suggested it.
“What else do you have planned, Pansy?” he shot back, making her sigh and sit down on one of the lounges.
I sat next to her as everyone sat around in an abnormal circle. I wasn’t really paying attention to the game, all I could see was Draco’s hands and hers in his hair and-
“Are you listening?” Pansy was tapping my shoulder.
“Sorry, what?” a few of them sniggered
“Truth or dare?” she asked annoyed.
“Uhm,” I didn’t really care, “truth.” I sighed.
“Okay,” she thought about it before smirking and I had suddenly become aware of all everything I had ever told her, “we all know you’ve had sex with a few people.”
“Pansy.”
“Who was the best?” I gave her an annoyed look but she smiled sweetly at me. “I’ll make it easier for you,” her eyes widened as she began, “who was better out of Blaise, Draco and Theodore?” I glared at her as I heard a few people shuffle in their position and a few chuckle.
But Pansy kept an intense gaze and I was debating in my mind whether or not to answer truthfully.
“Come on Pansy,” it was Theodore’s voice, “that’s a bit har-”
“Draco,” I maintained eye contact with her as everyone went quiet. My heart was racing and the part of me that wasn’t scared wanted to see their reactions.
“You’re turn,” she was smirking and I finally turned around to see a small frown on Theodore’s lips, a glare from Blaise and a Draco who seemed to be fascinated with the ground in front of him.
“Uhm,” I couldn’t focus, “Goyle, truth or dare?”
Once Goyle finished his dare my mind went back to the day’s previous events, but this time I couldn’t help but look out of my peripheral to see if Draco had stopped staring at the ground. He hadn’t.
“Draco,” my head shot to Goyle, “truth or dare?” Draco finally looked up and looking uninterested he replied dare.
“I dare you to go to the room of requirement with the best fuck you’ve had and spend 7 minutes in there.”
“And do what?” he squinted his eyes at him.
“What do you think?”
Draco stood up and I quickly turned to look at the floor, not wanting him to hurt me again today.
“Get up,” I noticed a pair of black shoes standing in front of my and as I looked up I realised he was talking to me. I blinked quickly at him before he sighed, “I said,” he paused, “get up.” My mind went into a daze and as he stared into my eyes and complied. He grabbed my wrist and led me out of the Common Room.
“We don’t have to go in-”
“Do you want to?” He suddenly stopped and I tripped, almost falling into his chest.
“Uh,” I was dumbfounded again, “I mean, I-I,” I gulped and before I went to continue he smirked and kept dragging me to the Room of Requirement. “Do you want to?” I asked, trying to catch up with him.
“So I’m the best fuck you’ve had?” He ignored my question.
“Out of the options I was given,” he turned around and shook his head upon seeing my smirk and playful gaze, “but I know I’m you’re best fuck.” He didn’t reply. As we got to the Room of Requirement I decided that maybe I could use the previous events to my advantage. “Was the girl this afternoon not good enough for you?” The room presented to us a bed and he went down to sit on it allowing me to see a pink tinge which had appeared on his pale cheeks.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” His voice was now sincere and I knew that fucking him would only make my heartache worse, but all I could focus on was his lips and the way they used to feel on my skin. I nodded and sat in his lap.
“Do you want this?” I whispered into his ear and as I felt him nod I started kissing on his neck.
“So you’ve had sex with Theodore?” His voice slightly trembled as I bit the sensitive skin under his jaw. I pulled back with an eyebrow raised and looking a bit embarrassed he apologised allowing me to go back to his neck.
“Did she kiss you like I do?” I whispered it into this ear again and noticed the way his hairs stood up. “Does she know all your sensitive spots like I do?” I looked up at him innocently as I started grinding on him and his hands found my waist. He groaned and I smirked as I continued to attack his neck.
“It seems,” his hands were trailing up my body, “that you’ve become a bit of brat,” I gasped as his hands found their way around my neck, “can’t blame you since you have no one to put you in your place anymore.” My thighs clenched at his words and I missed how well he knew me.
I whimpered and looked up at him making him chuckle, “don’t act innocent baby, I know you’re probably dying for me to fuck the brat out of you,” he kissed me softly, “and don’t worry, I will. Stand up.” He released his grip from my neck and I stood up, “you know what to do.”
I did know what to do. I know that Draco liked me to take my pants off slowly. Bending down so he had the perfect view of my ass and could take the time to admire it. I also know that Draco liked it when I took my shirt off slowly. Taking my time unbuttoning it and letting it fall to the ground. I also knew that he liked it when I kept my underwear on.
“Seems you haven’t forgotten everything then,” he had his arms folded as he was watching me and as I walked back to him and stood over him his hands found my ass and were slightly kneading it while bringing me closer to him.
“Get on your knees pretty baby,” I maintained eye contact as I did so knowing that was what he liked and unbuttoning his pants I had to control my breath so he didn’t know how excited I was. “Open your pretty mouth for me,” and I happily did so.
His hands were in my hair and I was reminded of how he always had to be in control. He pulled me closer to his abdomen and I started to gag, making tears form at the corner of my eye.
“I missed this beautiful sight,” he smirked down at me as I tried to look up innocently at him, “guess you’re still good for something.”
As I kept going he started moaning out my name and praising me for making him feel so good and soon his grip had relaxed on my hair and his head was leaning back and he was telling me to, ‘swallow like the good girl I had always been.’
“Stand up,” I did, “get on the bed.” I sat down and he pulled my legs apart, “if you even think about closing them I will tie them apart,” he threatened and I nodded with a frightened look on my face. He started kissing me as his hands found my nipples and started pulling and teasing them. I whimpered at his actions and could feel him smirk through the kiss.
“Please, Draco,” I whined and he tutted telling me to be patient otherwise he wasn’t going to give me anything I wanted. But he could never resist for long and he was soon kissing down my body, making a special stop at my nipples to kiss around them teasingly.
His lips made their way down my abdomen and to my hips and it took everything I had not to buck them closer towards his mouth. He kissed my thighs and then slowly pulled down my underwear before placing a soft kiss right where I needed him most.
“I forgot how quickly I could make you wet,” he chuckled, making me whine and if it wasn’t for his threat I would have been squirming. “Already so wet for me and I’ve barely even touched you,” he placed a finger on my clit, “such a desperate slut for me.” He chuckled as I finally caved in and bucked my hips up.
“I’m sorry,” I was quick to respond and he shook his head but before I could say anything else he had entered a finger inside of me and was moving it torturously slow. “Draco,” I was pouting.
“Yes baby,” his voice was teasing.
“Faster please,” my voice was soft because I knew that Draco would either go so fast I would be cumming in seconds or it could lead to a punishment.
“As you wish darling,” he smirked before entering another finger in and this time going torturously fast. I was crying out his name and as his fingers started hitting a certain spot my hips started bucking and before I could apologise his hand was around my throat again and he was telling me to keep still.
“Draco,” I moaned out the last part of his name, “can I please cum?” my chest was heaving and it was hard to beg with his hand still around my throat.
“So you still have your manners,” he teased.
“Draco, please,” I kept crying out his name and just as I couldn’t hold it any longer he told me to cum on his fingers like the dirty slut I was as he put a bit more pressure on my neck making me hold onto his wrist as I moaned out his name and let my eyes roll to the back of my head.
“Forgot how much you loved my fingers, always made you cum so quickly,” he smirked as his hands gripped onto my thighs and put them over his shoulders. “Did they ever fuck you this good?” his tip was teasing my entrance, “Blaise and Theodore?” his tip finally entered me and I screamed out his name. “Answer me,” and it was out again.
“No, no,” I was breathing heavy, “no one has ever fucked me as good as you,” he entered his tip again.
“Did they fuck you like you deserve?” his voice was taunting, “like the little slut you are?”
“No,” I took a deep breath, “I’m only a little slut for you.”
“That’s what I thought,” he smirked before snapping his hips into me and I cried out his name telling him that I was too sensitive, “you’ve taken more than this,” was his reply.
All I could do was moan out his name and let him continue to pound into me as he instead started to praise me for how well I was taking him.
“I’m going to cum if you do that,” I pouted as his fingers started rubbing my clit causing my legs to shake.
“Not yet you aren’t,” he chuckled, “because you’re my good girl, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I’m your good girl,” I cried out and let my head fall back, closing my eyes tight and trying to focus on not cumming.
“Look at me baby,” his thumb and forefinger were holding my face and I opened my eyes to see a soft gaze, “if you keep your eyes open, I’ll let you cum, okay?” His voice was a lot sweeter now and soon I was moaning out his name and his thrusts were becoming sloppier as my thighs started shaking and my breathing started to go back to normal.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and by instinct I went over to sit on his lap.
“Thank you,” I murmured so softly I wasn’t sure he heard it. I realised that things were going to be different now. What did this mean for our relationship? We had broken up but I think we both knew that neither of us could go too long without fucking each other.
“Did I fuck the brat out of you?” he chuckled causing me to roll my eyes.
“I don’t know,” I smirked, “personally I think you were a bit lenient,” I got up from his lap and started getting dressed before he could process what I said. He shook his head and put out his hand, “Give them to me then,” staring at him and blinking rapidly with my mouth open he smirked.
“These?” I asked, pointing to the underwear which I was just about to put on.
“Those,” I handed them over to him, “maybe next time if you’re good I’ll give them back to you,” as he put his pants back on he put them in his pocket and I went back to getting dressed so he couldn’t see the heat rising to my cheeks. At least I knew that we were going to do this again.
in which — with the yule ball nearing at hogwarts, many boys plan on testing their luck at asking your hand—yet to no avail. when your friends overhear a fellow slytherin boy plan on asking you, who has a history for leading girls on, they set off to sabotage his chances..
contains — six overprotective friends (draco malfoy, mattheo riddle, theodore nott, blaise zabini, enzo berkshire, pansy parkinson), slytherin!reader, a brief quidditch game, appearances from an invisible harry potter, marcus flint, fred weasley, ron weasley, hagrid, and more
word count — 3.9k
“Did you see the way she blocked that Quaffle? It was brilliant,” the voice of Adrian Pucey, Chaser of the Slytherin Quidditch team, echoched through the changing rooms.
“She’s brilliant,” Marcus Flint, Chaser and team captain, said.
Theodore Nott, who had been running a towel through his freshly-washed hair following an intense Quidditch practice, rolled his eyes at the conversation. His ears perked up, however, when he suddenly heard your name brought up.
“Planning on asking her later tonight?” Pucey asked, the sound of his voice becoming muffled as he pulled a fresh shirt over his head.
“Yeah. Just hoping no one’s beat me to it,” Flint said, as he packed his emerald green Quidditch robes away.
“I don’t know, a lot of people have been planning on it. I overheard a group at the Hufflepuff table during breakfast saying that Cedric Diggory was going to ask her,” Pucey said.
“Well, he’s just gonna have to settle for someone else, then, won’t he?” Flint said, clapping a hand on Pucey’s shoulder, before the two made their way out of the changing rooms.
Theo scoffed. “Did you hear what they just said?” he turned towards Mattheo Riddle and Draco Malfoy, who were also on the Slytherin team.
“No, what’d he say?” Mattheo asked, as he was too busy trying to polish the handle of his broomstick.
Draco rolled his eyes at him, before relaying the hushed conversation.
“Flint is planning on asking her? No, no way. He’s a proper git,” Mattheo said.
“Exactly,” Theo said, biting the skin of his lip.
“Why don’t we just stop him?” Mattheo asked, pulling on his uniform robes as he spoke.
“And how exactly do you plan on doing that?” Draco asked.
Mattheo simply smirked.
Fighting to catch their breath, the three boys made their way inside Professor Flitwick’s Charms class — not without having had the stairs change directions on them, much to the delightment of the portraits on the wall.
As they walked through the large wooden door, they spotted you, sitting alone at a table, pulling your wand out of the pocket of your robes.
They sighed in momentary relief, before spotting him. Marcus Flint had entered just moments prior to them, and was making his way over to the vacated seat next to you, a smug look on his face.
Without even a moment’s hesitation, Theo stride over to your desk from the opposite side of the room. With the books he held in his arms, he pushed them harshly against Flint, who toppled backwards a few steps. Theo seized the opportunity, pulling out the chair next to yours, placing his books down harshly on the desk connected to yours.
“Salve, bella,” he greeted innocently, sitting down before Flint could even collect himself. “Hey,” you greeted back, looking over at him with a small smile.
Theo looked to the other side of him, shrugging at Marcus with an even smugger look on his face. Marcus scoffed, begrudgingly placing his own books on the desk behind yours.
Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, who had watched the whole ordeal from the desks beside yours, giggled, as Mattheo and Draco made their way to the desks on the other side of where the two you sat.
They each shot Flint a glowering look, before sitting down.
“Pansy,” Theo whispered.
“Pansy,” Draco whispered, as the girl hadn’t responded.
“Pansyyy,” Mattheo drew out.
Pansy Parkinson slammed her quill down on top of her copy of Advanced Potion-Making, before turning towards the group of boys around her.
“Can I help you?” she asked, a little too loudly — many heads in the crowded library turned towards her.
“Not us,” Theo said, before informing the girl on the current predicament that was to ‘scar’ a member of their group.
“What’s so bad about Flint? She told me just the other day that he had caught a rogue Bludger before it hit her head,” Pansy said.
“Yeah, that he had caused,” Blaise Zabini, who was also on the Quidditch team, clarified. “If he hadn’t darted across the pitch towards the goalposts trying to impress her, that Bludger wouldn’t have even gone near her pretty face.”
“And, you didn’t hear this from me,” Mattheo said, his voice hushed, “but someone might have caught Marcus Flint snogging a Ravenclaw at the Three Broomsticks at the last Hogsmeade visit.”
“If by ‘someone’ you mean the same guy who bind his legs together so he fell face-first in the snow?” Enzo Berkshire teased.
“Oh, please. He was begging for it — what, with how red his lips were,” Mattheo defended.
“Just days before that,” Theo added on, “he had planned on putting a love potion in a fourth-year Slytherin’s pumpkin juice at breakfast.”
“So basically, the guy’s a git,” Draco concluded, his arms crossed as he leant back against a bookcase.
Pansy picked up her quill, lifting the end of it up to her lips as she thought. “Okay, let’s just set her up with someone else, then,” she said, pulling the feathery quill away from her lips to place back in her ink bottle.
Theo tutted. “That’s almost worse. We can’t have her running about with a Hufflepuff of all people at the Yule Ball.”
“Okay, so why don’t one of you go with her?” Pansy asked.
The five boys blinked, before looking at each other.
Enzo opened his mouth, almost protesting, before his lips met once more. Blaise rubbed a hand over his jaw tensely.
“Merlin, you guys are helpless,” Pansy said exasperatedly, shutting the cover of her textbook closed.
“It’s not that big of a deal,” you argued, as Theo reached down towards the hem of your coat, rubbing coarse snow off the material.
“Please, you would’ve fallen face-first in the snow if Mattheo hadn’t caught you,” Draco said from where he stood next to you. As the seven of you had begun making your way towards Hogsmeade, your boot had caught on something you couldn’t see — causing you to lose your balance. Mattheo, who had been walking in front of you, quickly spun around at the sound of your astonished shriek, grabbing hold of your forearms before you could fall to the ground — your long coat having dragged against the snow.
“It’s not my fault! I swear, it felt as if I’d tripped over someone’s foot — I even heard someone whisper an apology to me!” you defended.
“None of us heard anything,” Pansy said, as you could’ve sworn you heard Blaise whisper something along the lines of “She’s mental” in Theo’s ear.
“It’s fine, really,” you said, as Theo placed a quick Hot-Air Charm on your coat to dry it off.
As you entered the village of Hogsmeade, the small shops of the vicinity were limned with snow, many of the students and villagers bundled up from head-to-toe to ward against the bitter weather. “Where should we head to first?” Enzo asked, his head turning towards the line of shops.
“Pansy and I have to find shoes for the Yule Ball,” you said, as you looped your arm through hers.
The five boys looked at each other.
“So,” Mattheo cleared his throat. “About that, do you know who you’re going with yet?” he asked, feigning nonchalant interest.
The boys’ breaths hitched simultaneously. “No, not yet,” you said. They sighed in relief, Theo even smirking at your words.
“I mean, I think Seamus Finnigan was planning on asking me on the way to McGonagall’s class,” you added solemnly. “But I think he got cold-feet.”
Blaise held back a snigger, earning him a glare of warning from Draco. Seamus had been planning on asking you — he’d even boasted about it to all the Gryffindors — but, as Mattheo had heard him discussing it with Dean Thomas in passing, he’d quickly brushed shoulders with the boy, causing his books and rolls of parchment to topple to the floor. Mattheo waved his wand inconspicuously on top of one of the fallen parchments.
“Hey, watch where you’re going, man,” Seamus roared, leaning down to pick up his fallen materials. As he stood up, arms full of books and loose rolls of parchment, Dean gasped. “Seamus, your face,” he pointed at the boy’s forehead. The words “BACK OFF” were spelt in angry purple pimples across the skin of his forehead. Mattheo caught Seamus’ eye, smirking, before turning down the corridor.
“Every boy is just dying to ask you, don’t worry about it,” Pansy giggled, pulling you towards Gladrags Wizardwear, away from the boys. You shot them a quick shrug, waving in parting.
Mattheo sighed, a smirk on his face. “I’m surprised. I had thought Seamus was sure to try again,” he said.
“He’s a Gryffindor, their whole house values are a hoax,” Blaise said, watching as a group of weary third-years ran in the opposite direction of the Shrieking Shack.
The door to Honeydukes jingled open, stepping out of it two familiar Slytherin students.
Marcus Flint and Adrian Pucey talked animatedly to one another, their hands filled with bags of sweets.
“Do you think she’ll like these?” Flint asked.
“Definitely. She’s always eating those sherbet lemons before Quidditch practice,” Pucey said matter-of-factly.
The two boys made their way through the crowd of students in Hogsmeade, oblivious to the five glaring boys who stood a distance away.
As Flint adjusted the green-and-silver scarf that rested around his neck, Mattheo pulled out his wand.
Enzo quickly reached towards him, lowering his arm that held the wand. “What are you doing?” he shrieked.
“They’re obviously talking about her,” Mattheo said quickly.
“They haven’t said anything bad,” Enzo defended.
As Enzo’s hand wrapped around the length of Mattheo’s wand to aim it downwards, a non-verbal incantation accidentally spewed out from the tip, green sparks illuminating at the two boys who now stood outside the Three Broomsticks.
“What-,” Marcus Flint called out, as a snowball had suddenly come barreling towards him, colliding with the back of his head.
As he turned, more came pelting towards him from an unknown source behind the group of watchful Slytherin boys, striking his coat and the middle of his face.
Adrian Pucey turned, coming face-to-face with another snowball, now aimed towards him. He quickly darted out of the way to avoid it, bumping into Flint — the two of them toppling backwards into a pile of packed snow.
As they regained themselves, they sat upwards, more snowballs continuing to shoot towards them.
“Come on!” Pucey roared, darting back towards the castle.
Several people had come out of the shops at the sound of the raucous, pointing and laughing at the scene before them. Draco was leaning against Blaise to stay upright through his own hysterics.
Flint shot a furtive look around, before running after him.
“Wow, thanks mate,” Mattheo chortled. “That went better than I could’ve hoped,” he patted Enzo on the shoulder approvingly.
“OH, that had to have hurt,” the voice of Lee Jordan roared throughout the pitch, following a Bludger that had struck Fred Weasley near his crotch.
“Gryffindor’s in possession of the Quaffle — OOH, but an amazing save from the Slytherin Keeper. She’s quite beautiful as well, many boys would surely agree-,” he began.
“JORDAN!” McGonagall roared at him.
“Only saying the truth, Professor,” he defended.
Theo, who was sat on his own broomstick high above the pitch, scoffed at the boy’s words. He agreed with them, of course, but he would never admit to sharing the same opinion as a Gryffindor.
Mattheo flew up next to him, the two of them watching you as you guarded the goalposts for their team’s side.
“Slytherin’s Captain now has possession of the Quaffle, he’s speeding,” Jordan roared.
They watched as Marcus Flint flew past you with the Quaffle held in his hands, shooting you a sly wink before barreling through the Gryffindor players.
They caught sight of you as you blushed — whether out of genuine infatuation, or embarrassment at the lewd gesture, they weren’t sure.
“Slytherin scores!” Lee Jordan yelled, as the scores were updated for the match; 30 - 10 to Slytherin.
Marcus Flint wore a smug look on his face, fist-bumping Adrian Pucey as he passed him.
Draco Malfoy made his way over to where Theo and Mattheo hovered, craning his neck around in search of the fluttering Golden Snitch. As he spotted Flint’s ludicrous display of pride, he rolled his eyes. “I honestly wouldn’t mind if we didn’t win, just so I never have to see that stupid look on his face,” he scoffed out.
Mattheo rolled his eyes, as Flint aggressively banged his broomstick against Alicia Spinnet, one of the Gryffindor Chasers, causing her to fly straight into the high seats of the stands.
“You know what..” Marcus said, before flying forwards. He seized hold of a rogue Bluder before it could fly forwards, directing its path towards Marcus Flint’s broomstick.
As the large ball collided with the handle of Flint’s broom, he fell forwards off the base of it — falling through one of the hoops on the Gryffindor side, his broomstick falling after him.
The crowd winced, many of the Gryffindors even cheering after what he’d done to one of their Chasers.
Everyone craned their heads towards the grounds, watching as Flint lifted himself up groggily.
Mattheo actually laughed. “Flint, you’re supposed to send the Quaffle through the hoops,” he joked, before flying to the opposite side of the pitch, Theo chuckling behind him.
He caught sight of you — you looked down at the boy with your mouth agape, shaken by his fall, and the fact that it appeared as if Flint was hoisting a broken arm now.
Mattheo stared at your expression of shock for a moment. “He was begging for it,” he clarified, facing towards you. You turned your head to him, speechless.
“Potter’s caught the Snitch! Gryffindor wins!” Lee Jordan yelled, the stands exploding with yells of triumph.
The sounds of your team members’ groaning could be heard against the roaring crowd, but you didn’t pay them any mind. You scoffed at Mattheo, before flying towards the grounds.
“She’s still not talking to you?” Pansy asked over dinner. The section of the Slytherin table that was usually occupied by the seven of you was now partially-empty — with you being in the hospital wing, checking in on Flint.
“No,” Mattheo said through a mouthful of shepherd’s pie. “I’ve already told her it was an accident.”
“Uh.. no it wasn’t. We all saw what happened,” Enzo said confusedly.
Mattheo glared at him. “Well, I didn’t intend for him to fall,” he defended. “And besides, with our Captain injured, the next Quidditch match will have to be postponed.”
“Well, forget about all of that for now,” Blaise said, trying to ease the tension. “The ball’s tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I heard tomorrow night’s supposed to be spectacular,” Enzo chimed in.
The golden platters in front of them vanished of dinner, dessert appearing in their place. “I’ve heard that Dumbledore hired the Weird Sisters again for the whole evening,” Pansy said.
Theo helped himself to a treacle tart. “Wait, Panse — who are you going to the ball with?” he suddenly asked.
Pansy blushed furiously. She reached for her goblet of pumpkin juice, bringing it up to her lips to hide her reddening cheeks. She swallowed harshly against the cup, her eyes meeting Draco’s over the top.
“There’s no chance,” Theo said, catching on.
Draco smirked. “Well, you lot were all too preoccupied to even consider asking Pansy over here,” he said. “And, by the looks of it, I’m the only of us who has a date for tomorrow.”
The four boys looked between the two of them in shock.
Blaise leaned forwards, looking up-and-down the table. He whistled softly to catch the attention of a girl in their year on the other end. Daphne Greengrass’ head of long blonde-hair whipped towards the sound.
“Daphne, want to go to the ball with me?” he causally asked. The girl looked over at her younger sister who sat to her other side, who nodded frantically at her. “Yeah, alright,” she said smiling, before turning towards her friends, who all squealed.
“You’re not the only one,” he said smugly, reaching for a cream custard from the middle of the table.
Theo, Mattheo, and Enzo sat there, eating frustratedly. Enzo looked rather pale at the news that, by the looks of it, he would be attending the ball without a date. Theo and Mattheo, however, glared at one another.
Feeble phrases of “I love your dress!” and “You look stunning!” were exchanged throughout the Entrance Hall. The five boys, dressed in black and white dress robes, made their way up the stairs of the dungeons towards the sounds — Pansy, dressed in a pale pink dress that complimented her look, with her arm looped through Draco’s.
Pansy had already relayed the news that you would be attending the ball, but without Flint, who was still cooped up in the hospital wing. Even without his injury, he hadn’t mustered up the nerve to ask you in the end.
As they made their way into the Great Hall, which was decked with false snow over the enchanted ceiling, and an abundance of small circular tables crowded around a large empty dance space, they quickly found a table large enough to situate the lot of them.
As rounds of students dressed to the nines continued to file into the Hall, all of their heads stayed craned towards the entrance, anticipating your arrival.
When the staff made their way towards the large table at the front of the room, Dumbledore leading the end of the rear, they still stared, waiting for you.
Yet, with a flick of his wand, the doors were shut, the lights were dimmed, and the music began — you hadn’t arrived.
As the dance floor quickly crowded with students — sounds of winces from toes being stepped on, whistles of appreciation as Fred Weasley and Angelina Johnson partook in an odd sort of waltz, cheers as the Weird Sisters performed the night away — you were nowhere to be seen.
“I thought you said she was coming,” Mattheo called across the table accusatorially to Pansy.
“That’s what she told me!” she defended, as Draco made his way back to the table with two glasses of punch in his hands. Soon enough, she placed her finished cup down, reached for his hand, and the two of them were now part of the large group of students on the dance floor.
Theo, Mattheo, and Enzo sat at the now empty table dejectedly, watching as Blaise and Daphne engaged in a rather fond display of affection.
“Hey,” a girl called out. All three of their heads quickly looked up, expecting to spot you, but it was a Ravenclaw student a year below them, who was speaking to Enzo.
“Want to dance?” she asked. He blinked in surprise, before gratefully accepting the offer, jumping to his feet and stumbling slightly over the table cloth near his feet.
“Great, just great,” Theo said, as Enzo now joined the excited crowd of students — small Professor Flitwick was even crowd-surfing, as Professors McGonagall and Snape watched in mild-amusement; it even looked as if Snape was fighting back a smirk.
Then, they spotted you. You were stood behind the doors of the Entrance Hall, watching the crowd on the dance floor.
Their eyes widened, taking in your appearance — you were wearing a black dress, and your hair was cascading neatly down your shoulders and back.
With one long look at the crowd, you turned away, out-of-sight.
Mattheo and Theo looked at each other, before leaving their seats, mumbles of “Excuse us,” and “Oh, just move! Would you?” falling from their lips as they followed after you.
As they left the loud atmospheric Great Hall, they spotted you sitting alone on the steps of the Entrance Hall, leaning against your legs as you held them tightly to your frame, carefully with the dress you wore.
A group of girls sat behind you, comforting a sobbing girl as she rubbed furiously at her red-rimmed eyes, mascara staining her cheeks.
“Bella, what’s the matter?” Theo asked as softly as he could. He sat down next to you on the steps, Mattheo sitting down on your other side.
You sniffled slightly. As their eyes adjusted to the contrasting dim glow of the Entrance Hall against the dimly-lit Great Hall, they noticed how you had even done your makeup pulchritudinously for the occasion.
“I don’t have a date,” you whispered, slightly embarrassed.
Mattheo shifted as he sat on the stone step. “Don’t worry, we don’t either,” he said.
You wiped quickly at your cheeks, before turning towards him at his words. “Really?” you asked, slightly shocked.
“Yeah, well, we were sort of at odds with each other over who’d get to ask you,” Mattheo said, reaching forwards and snatching a bottle of Butterbeer from a younger student, who was too frightened to object. He unscrewed the cap, throwing his head back as he took a long swig.
“Though, I don’t think we really realized it until Marcus Flint tried to do what we couldn’t,” Theo admitted.
“Wait, so that’s why you basically tried to kill him?” you asked Mattheo.
“Uh, not killed, but.. yeah. I thought it was pretty obvious, to be fair,” he said, taking another swig of the Butterbeer.
“Well, what’s done is done,” Theo said, shifting the conversation awkwardly from what they’d guiltily admitted to doing. “There’s no point in moping about it out here, when the dance is in there,” he said, pointing into the Great Hall, where Hagrid was now spotted towering over the crowd of students as he found himself in the middle of the dance circle.
“Come on,” he stood up, reaching his hand towards you. Mattheo placed his half-finished bottle of Butterbeer on the steps, before extending his hand out to you as well.
You smiled softly, reaching for both of their hands as they pulled you up, towards the Great Hall.
As you entered, you heard a loud shout of your name over the blaring music, before Pansy came striding towards you, Draco behind her. “You look beautiful,” you both said at the same time, causing the two of you to giggle.
“Come, you’ve almost missed it — Professor McGonagall is dancing with Ron Weasley!” she exclaimed, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards the loud ensemble of students.
Draco, Mattheo, and Theo followed after, and it was not long before Blaise and Enzo found the four of you.
As Theo offered you his hand for a dance, you took it — the two of you slow-dancing alongside Pansy and Draco, as her head rested against his shoulder. Even Enzo and Mattheo had decided to, jokingly, dance together — much to the entertainment of everyone around them, many people not even attempting to suppress their giggles at the sight of them.
As Mattheo later bowed to you for a dance, the two of you jumped in the mass of the crowd, everyone singing along to a familiar tune the Sisters crowed out.
With Pansy gossiping in your ear about who you ‘wouldn’t believe’ Moaning Myrtle had corralled into saving her a dance, Mattheo’s head lolling onto Blaise’s shoulder at the table after having drank too much Butterbeer, Enzo wincing as he rubbed at his back after having fallen when Mattheo refused to catch him in a jig, and Draco and Theo shamelessly laughing at students who failed miserably to dance with their partners — you were glad that the ball had finally dropped.
notes ⋆. 𐙚 ₊˚ thank you for the request, anon, i hope you liked it !! i just finished re-reading the gof and couldn’t resist writing for the yule ball 😭
ㆍ D.M x Hufflepuff! Reader
ㆍ Missing home turns you to the kitchens to whip up something that tastes a little less like home sickness.
ㆍ4k
ㆍ r/q: @ashdreams2023
ㆍtaglist: @littlemadamred @raiweasley @iluvhrj @hoeforlifee @a1ienmush @falsedivide @damagedbreign @allielovesstars @justheretoreadmydear
ㆍa/n: hi!!! Happy 2k!! I’m feeling a little better but I have no motivation to write. I hope I get out of this slump
Much love, Saige
[masterlist]
It starts with the mashed potatoes.
They’re lumpy. A crime, really, by your standards.
You stare down at your dinner plate, fork hovering mid-air as you watch a blob of unseasoned potato cling to it like regret. The rest of the Great Hall buzzes with chatter; Ravenclaws debating homework, Gryffindors laughing too loud, Slytherins pretending they don’t care — and there you, sitting at the Hufflepuff table, quietly wondering if this is what homesickness tastes like.
It isn’t that the food is bad. It’s just… institutional. There’s something about it that lacks heart. No herbs sprinkled by hand, no butter melting over freshly baked bread, no scent of onions sizzling in a pan while your mum hums in the kitchen. You miss that warmth — the kind that doesn’t come from the castle’s roaring fires, but from a full, happy belly.
So, one night, you decide to fix it.
You’ve heard whispers, of course — that the kitchens are hidden somewhere below the Great Hall, near the Hufflepuff common room. Some students mention it in passing; a few even brag about stealing snacks. But no one seems to live down there the way you intend to.
It takes you three days to find it.
On the first night, you wander in circles around the basement corridors, nearly scaring yourself senseless when a suit of armor coughs (it was dust, but you still yelped loud enough to wake a ghost). The second night, you stumble upon the entrance to the wine cellar — close, but not close enough. And finally, on the third, you notice a painting of a massive fruit bowl hanging crooked on a stone wall.
The pear in the painting is grinning at you.
“Alright,” you whisper to it, squinting suspiciously. “Don’t freak out, but I’m going to tickle you.”
The pear giggles. The painting swings open.
You nearly fall inside.
Warmth floods the air immediately — buttery, sweet, and alive. The scent of freshly baked bread wraps around you like a hug, and you blink at the sight before you: a cavernous room filled with long wooden tables, copper pots glinting under enchanted lanterns, and dozens of tiny figures bustling about in aprons.
House-elves.
They move like music; chopping, stirring, stacking plates taller than you are. It’s chaos, but a kind of organized, joyful chaos that feels oddly like home.
One of them spots you, his bat-like ears twitching as he gasps.
“Oh! A student!” he squeaks, wiping his hands on his apron. “Are you lost, miss?”
You shake your head quickly, stepping into the light. “No, I — I just wanted to see where the food comes from.”
He tilts his head, curious but not alarmed. “Students not usually ask about food. Students usually just eat food.”
“I know,” you admit, smiling nervously. “But… I was wondering if maybe I could help? Or — maybe make something myself?”
The elf blinks. Then his entire face lights up. “Help? A student helping Dobby and friends in the kitchen?”
That’s how it starts.
Within minutes, you’re given a tiny apron and handed a wooden spoon that’s far too short for comfort. The elves crowd around, delighted by your enthusiasm and slightly horrified by your Muggle way of cooking. They watch as you fry garlic and butter in a pan — a simple recipe, really, one that smells like home.
“Miss Y/N cooks like a Muggle,” one whispers in awe.
“Miss Y/N stirs without magic!” another gasps.
You laugh, cheeks flushed from the heat. “That’s sort of the point.”
When you finally taste the soup you’ve made, thick and savory and perfect, the elves clap. One even wipes a tear.
It becomes a ritual after that.
Every few nights, after curfew, you sneak down to the kitchens with your slippers half-tied and a grin you can’t quite hide. The elves always greet you like an old friend. They call you the kind Hufflepuff, and sometimes they ask you to show them your “muggle tricks.”
You teach them how to caramelize onions, how to roast potatoes until they’re crispy, how to make bread pudding the way your mum used to when you were small. In return, they show you their secrets — self-whisking spoons, spell-heated kettles, how to charm a ladle to sing when soup is ready.
It’s peaceful, warm, and safe — the world above may be filled with house rivalries and pureblood politics, but down here, everyone’s equal. You belong.
Of course, you have no idea that someone else has noticed your late-night absences.
Someone with pale hair and sharper eyes than you’d like.
But that … that’s a story for another night.
Tonight, it’s just you, the elves, and a pan sizzling with butter.
And honestly? That’s plenty.
——
It happens on a Tuesday night.
The castle is asleep, or as asleep as Hogwarts ever gets; the portraits snoring softly in their frames, torches dimmed to a golden flicker, shadows stretching long across the flagstones. You hum quietly to yourself as you slip down the familiar hallway toward the kitchens, holding your wand low to light the way.
You’ve been doing this for weeks now, sneaking into the kitchens after dinner. The elves expect you by now; they’ve even started keeping a small pot warm for you “just in case Miss Y/N comes to visit.” You always do. You’ve found that the smell of roasting bread and the soft chatter of the elves is better than any lullaby.
But tonight, your luck runs thin.
You’re halfway down the hall near the fruit painting when you hear it — footsteps. Slow, deliberate, echoing against the stone.
Your breath catches. You snuff out your wand light and duck behind a pillar, heart racing. You think, Please be Filch. Please be Filch.
Because you can sweet-talk your way out of trouble with Filch. You can even bribe Mrs. Norris with leftover bits of roast chicken. But the voice that follows isn’t Filch’s — it’s far worse.
“Merlin’s sake,” drawls someone from the dark, “if this is another couple snogging near the kitchens, I swear—”
He rounds the corner, and the torchlight catches his face. Pale hair, silver eyes, and a smirk that could slice glass.
Draco Malfoy.
You freeze.
Of course it’s him. Because the universe has a wicked sense of humor.
His eyes land on you instantly, widening just enough to betray surprise before he tilts his head, smirk deepening. “Well, well. What have we here? A Hufflepuff out of bed after hours?”
You straighten, trying to look more composed than you feel. “And a Slytherin doing the same,” you shoot back, folding your arms.
He blinks — apparently not used to being talked back to — then chuckles lowly. “Touché. Though I have to say, you’re not exactly the type I expected to find sneaking about. What are you doing, trying to steal extra pudding?”
You roll your eyes. “If you must know, I was headed to the kitchens.”
“The kitchens,” he repeats slowly, amused. “And why is that?”
“Because I was hungry.”
He quirks an eyebrow, stepping closer. “You know, you could just wait until breakfast like a normal person.”
You give him a flat look. “Normal people don’t put salt in chocolate pudding.”
That makes him laugh, properly laugh, and it throws you off balance for a moment. The sound is low, unguarded, and far less cruel than you expect. But it’s gone in an instant, replaced by that usual sly grin.
“You’re full of surprises, Hufflepuff,” he says, leaning against the wall. “Most of your lot would faint if they saw a house-elf, let alone go wandering about with them in the middle of the night.”
You narrow your eyes. “How do you—?”
He taps his temple, smirking. “You smell like bread. And… is that cinnamon?”
Your face burns. “You were following me?”
“I was curious,” he corrects smoothly. “It’s not every day I see someone creeping toward a painting of fruit.”
You glare at him. “Well, congratulations. Curiosity satisfied?”
He studies you for a beat, eyes flicking down to the bit of flour dusting your sleeve. “Not even close.”
And then, to your surprise, he doesn’t say anything else. No threats, no smug remarks about telling a professor. He just… lets you go. He watches you push open the portrait door and vanish into the warmth beyond.
You can feel his gaze even as the door swings shut behind you.
By morning, you assume he’ll have forgotten. He doesn’t.
At breakfast, he sits at the Slytherin table, idly stirring his porridge while you take your usual spot among the Hufflepuffs. You’re midway through buttering your toast when you hear it —
“Careful, Y/N,” he calls across the hall, just loud enough for nearby students to hear. “You’ve got a bit of flour behind your ear.”
Your knife pauses. Slowly, you turn to glare at him.
He’s grinning, of course. That infuriating, lopsided smirk that makes you want to throw a muffin at his head.
“Grow up, Malfoy,” you say evenly, going back to your plate.
It’s the tone — calm, unimpressed, utterly done that seems to catch him off guard. His smirk falters for just a second before he chuckles under his breath and turns back to his friends.
But it doesn’t stop there.
Over the next few days, he finds new ways to prod at you. Subtle ones. Snide comments about your “culinary adventures,” little jabs about your Muggle background (“Do they teach you to cook before you learn to read?”), always delivered with that same teasing smirk.
And every time, you refuse to take the bait.
You ignore him in the corridors, sidestep his remarks in class, and when he sneers something about “kitchen rats” during Herbology, you simply smile and say, “Funny. I didn’t think Slytherins were brave enough to go near the kitchens themselves.”
The other students snicker. Malfoy’s smirk flickers again.
You can tell he doesn’t know what to make of you. Most people either fear him or fawn over him — you do neither. You don’t rise to his taunts, don’t care for his approval, and that, perhaps, unsettles him more than any insult could.
Still, he doesn’t stop watching you.
Sometimes you catch him across the Great Hall, eyes flicking up from his plate to where you’re sitting with your friends. There’s something thoughtful there — curiosity, maybe, or mild irritation at being ignored.
You wonder what he’s thinking, but you don’t ask.
Because down in the kitchens, where the elves greet you like family and the smell of butter fills the air, none of that matters.
You still go every night. You still bake, laugh, and hum along with the clinking of pots and spoons. The world above, with its taunts and rivalries, fades away in the golden warmth below.
And if, one night, Draco Malfoy happens to pass by the fruit painting again and catch a faint whiff of your cinnamon bread wafting through the hall… well.
He doesn’t tell a soul.
——
It’s been nearly two weeks since Draco caught you sneaking into the kitchens, and somehow, it’s become his new favorite secret.
You know he hasn’t told anyone. No professors, no Slytherin lackeys, not even Pansy, and that’s saying something. At first, you thought his silence was mercy. But after the fourth time he made a snide comment about “culinary Hufflepuffs,” you realized it wasn’t mercy at all. It was entertainment.
Still, he’s… different lately.
His teasing feels less like bullying and more like testing. Like he’s trying to figure you out — why a Muggle-born girl from Hufflepuff keeps wandering to the heart of the castle at night just to make food she could have conjured.
He doesn’t understand it, but he can’t seem to let it go either.
It’s a Friday evening when you notice him again. You’re heading toward the kitchens with a basket of ingredients — the elves had asked you to show them how to make shepherd’s pie “the Muggle way,” and you’d promised to bring fresh herbs from the greenhouses.
The corridors are empty, except for the faint whisper of your slippers against the stone. You hum softly as you go, the faint weight of your basket comforting against your hip.
Until a voice drips out of the shadows.
“Planning to start a restaurant, Hufflepuff?”
You sigh before you even turn. “Good evening to you too, Malfoy.”
He steps into view, robes immaculate as always, expression full of practiced boredom. “You’ve been making quite a name for yourself. I can hardly walk past the Great Hall without hearing about the mysterious baker who smells like sugar and keeps disappearing after supper.”
You keep walking. “If you’re here to insult me, you’ll have to keep up.”
He falls into stride beside you, ignoring the jab. “So what is it, then? Some kind of secret side business? Feeding the Fat Friar? Black market pies?”
You shoot him a look. “You’ve spent too much time around your friends.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” he says lightly. “But it’s not every day a Hufflepuff sneaks out this often without getting caught. Makes me wonder what else you’re hiding.”
You stop by the fruit painting and set the basket down. “You’re really that bored, aren’t you?”
He smirks, leaning against the wall. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just fascinated by your poor life choices.”
You roll your eyes and reach up to tickle the pear. It giggles and swings open as usual. The smell of warm bread wafts out, and Draco’s eyebrows lift slightly. “That’s… actually impressive.”
You glance at him, hand on the door. “You coming to report me, or just to stand there looking judgmental?”
He hesitates. You can almost see the gears turning — the part of him that wants to stay in control, stay superior, versus the part that’s undeniably curious.
“I’ll… have a look,” he says finally, tone casual, though his eyes dart into the glowing warmth beyond the portrait like he’s walking into enemy territory.
The elves lose their minds.
A Malfoy in the kitchens is unheard of. One gasps so loudly he nearly drops a tray of tarts. “Miss Y/N brought a Slytherin! Miss Y/N brought a student with shiny hair! Oh, he looks cross; quick, someone give him tea!”
You bite back a laugh as Draco’s composure falters. He blinks at the elves, dozens of them bustling around, offering pastries, chattering excitedly, and for once, he looks genuinely unsure of himself.
“I— what— why are they—?”
“They’re house-elves,” you remind him, smiling. “Friendly ones. You don’t have to glare at them.”
“I’m not glaring,” he mutters, which is a lie.
You thank the elves and begin setting your ingredients out on one of the long tables. Draco hovers awkwardly, trying not to look impressed by the glittering copper pots or the enchanted ladles that stir themselves.
“Do you actually cook here?” he asks finally.
“Yes,” you say, peeling potatoes with practiced speed. “It’s called a hobby.”
“Most witches just use magic.”
“Most witches don’t know how to make a proper crust.”
He hums under his breath — skeptical but intrigued. You can feel him watching as you knead dough, the sleeves of your jumper pushed up, flour clinging to your fingertips.
The elves chatter softly around you, bringing ingredients and utensils, offering advice you don’t need but appreciate anyway. Draco stands beside the table, pretending to examine a pan but sneaking glances your way when he thinks you won’t notice.
“Why bother?” he asks after a while.
“Bother with what?”
“With this,” he gestures vaguely, “the cooking, the sneaking out. You could just eat what the school serves.”
You shrug, pressing the dough into a pan. “Because it reminds me of home. It’s something real … something that’s mine.”
He’s quiet after that. You don’t look up, but you can feel the question lingering in the air between you: What’s that like, I mean, having something real?
When the pie’s in the oven, the elves usher you both to a small table tucked in the corner, insisting you have tea while you wait.
Draco looks painfully out of place, silver hair gleaming in the warm glow of the kitchen, posture stiff, cup held like it might hex him. But there’s something soft in his expression as he glances around, watching the elves hum and bustle.
“They treat you like one of them,” he says quietly.
You smile, blowing on your tea. “That’s kind of the point.”
He studies you for a moment, eyes flicking over your face, thoughtful now instead of sharp. “You really don’t care what people think, do you?”
You sip your tea. “Should I?”
He opens his mouth, then shuts it again, clearly not used to being disarmed.
The elves cheer when the pie comes out golden and bubbling. You serve him a slice before he can refuse — he hesitates, then tries it, visibly fighting to maintain his usual composure.
You grin. “You like it.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
His lips twitch. “You’re insufferable.”
“Good.”
Later, when you’re both heading back toward your common rooms — him feigning annoyance, you carrying what’s left of the pie, he stops just before the corridor splits.
“You’re lucky, you know,” he says after a pause.
“Lucky?” you echo.
He looks at you, expression unreadable in the dim light. “To find something here that feels like home.”
There’s a flicker of something almost vulnerable in his tone, gone as quickly as it came.
You nod slowly. “Maybe you will too, someday.”
His mouth twitches like he wants to scoff but can’t quite manage it. Instead, he gives you one last look, part curiosity, part confusion, before turning on his heel and heading down the opposite corridor.
You watch him go, a faint smile tugging at your lips.
And when you push open the portrait to your cozy common room, the smell of baked pie still clinging to your hands, you can’t help but think that for someone who claims not to care, Draco Malfoy looked an awful lot like he was starting to.
——-
You tell yourself it’s a one-time thing, a blip.
He’s Draco Malfoy, for Merlin’s sake — the last person you’d expect to find sipping tea with house-elves and pretending not to like your pie. The entire experience feels like something out of a fever dream. By morning, you’re sure he’ll have dismissed it, filed it away as a brief lapse in judgment, and returned to his usual routine of smug remarks and shiny shoes.
And for a few days, he does.
He’s quiet. Watchful. You still catch him staring at you sometimes — in the Great Hall, in the corridors, even during Herbology — but he doesn’t say a word. It’s strange. You’ve grown used to the teasing, the smirks, the cutting comments that you could easily swat away. Now, his silence feels heavier. Thoughtful, almost.
Then, one night, he comes back.
You’re in the kitchens again, half-asleep over a bowl of dough when the pear giggles and the portrait swings open.
“Kitchen’s closed,” you mumble without looking up.
“I don’t think it is,” comes a voice, smooth and drawling.
You nearly drop your rolling pin. “Malfoy?”
He leans against the doorway, looking much too composed for someone sneaking into a room full of clattering cookware. His hands are tucked neatly into his pockets, but his eyes flick over the room like he’s memorizing it.
“You’re actually here again,” you say, still stunned.
“You sound surprised,” he replies, stepping inside. “What, did you think I’d forget about this place?”
“I hoped you would.”
He smirks. “You underestimate me, Hufflepuff.”
You shake your head and return to your dough, refusing to indulge his ego. “So what, you just decided to pop in for dessert?”
“Curiosity,” he says lightly, though you catch the faintest flicker of honesty beneath the joke. “I was walking by and thought I might as well see what all the fuss was about.”
“The fuss,” you repeat dryly, “being… bread.”
“Apparently so. The whole castle smells like it when you’re down here.”
You glance up, meeting his gaze — soft for once, without the usual sharpness. You can tell he means it as a joke, but there’s something genuine buried in there. Something he doesn’t quite have words for.
“Grab an apron, then,” you say finally. “If you’re staying, you’re helping.”
He blinks. “I don’t think—”
“No free samples,” you interrupt, pushing a spare apron at his chest.
He stares at it like you’ve just handed him a cursed object. “You’re serious.”
“Completely.”
You watch him debate his pride. It’s almost funny — Draco Malfoy, whose robes probably cost more than your entire kitchen setup, standing in front of a bowl of flour like it’s a battlefield. Eventually, with an exaggerated sigh, he puts the apron on.
It’s crooked.
You don’t tell him.
It’s… oddly peaceful after that.
He doesn’t talk much, just listens — occasionally asking what you’re doing, occasionally pretending he doesn’t care about the answer. The elves adore him immediately, of course, bringing him spoons to stir with and fussing over his sleeves.
“Sir Draco is stirring too gently,” one says, frowning at the bowl.
Draco scowls. “I’m stirring.”
“Sir Draco must stir with love!”
You nearly choke trying not to laugh.
He shoots you a glare, but his lips twitch. “This is humiliating.”
“Maybe a little,” you admit.
He huffs, but doesn’t stop stirring.
When the bread is finally baked, you both sit at the long wooden table, watching the elves tidy up. The golden crust glows under the lantern light.
“You know,” he says quietly, “it’s not terrible.”
You snort. “That’s your way of saying it’s good.”
“Don’t push your luck.”
You tear off a piece of bread and pass it to him anyway. He takes it without protest this time, chewing thoughtfully, gaze fixed on the fire flickering in the oven.
“Why do you keep coming back?” you ask after a moment.
He doesn’t look at you right away. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. “It’s quiet here. Not like the rest of the castle.”
You nod, understanding more than you should. “You don’t have to pretend to be anyone down here.”
He glances at you — surprised, maybe even relieved that you understand. “Something like that.”
The silence that follows is comfortable, the kind that doesn’t need filling. You sip your tea while he leans back, one leg crossed over the other, eyes distant but softer than usual.
It’s strange to see him like this — unguarded, without the sharp edges.
You’re not sure when it happens, but at some point, the elves start whispering. You catch fragments — Miss Y/N has a friend, The shiny boy smiles now, Sir Draco needs more pie.
You roll your eyes. He hears them too and flushes faintly, trying to look annoyed but failing.
“You’ve corrupted them,” he mutters.
“I’d say I’ve improved their company.”
He gives you a look, one corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Careful, Hufflepuff. I might almost start enjoying this.”
“Almost?”
He leans forward, voice low and teasing again, though there’s warmth in it now. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
You smile. “Too late.”
When you finally leave the kitchens that night, it’s late — the halls empty, the air cool and humming with the quiet magic of midnight. You walk together for a while before your paths split, his to the dungeons, yours to Hufflepuff.
He stops before the turn. “You won’t tell anyone about this,” he says, not quite a question.
You grin. “You mean that Draco Malfoy voluntarily baked bread with a Muggle-born? Never.”
He rolls his eyes but smiles despite himself — small, fleeting, and real.
“Goodnight, Hufflepuff.”
“Goodnight, Malfoy.”
You watch him disappear down the corridor, his footsteps soft against the stone.
And for the first time, you realize — he doesn’t belong down there in the kitchens. But he keeps coming back anyway.
Maybe because he’s curious.
Maybe because he’s lonely.
Maybe, though neither of you will say it aloud yet…
draco’s got an arm lazily looped around your waist, his freehand tangled into your hair as he yanks your head back to hold you up – the two of you on your knees in the middle of the quidditch changerooms as he thrusts his thick cock between your wet folds while you whimper and struggle to speak. slytherin wasn’t even playing today. no – the match was gryffindor versus ravenclaw, so while you should have been watching your golden boy boyfriend flying around with the hopes of catching that damned little snitch to win the game: instead, you were cockdrunk with his arch enemy.
“malfoy, fuck, slow down…”
yeah right; like that was going to happen. another whine is plucked from the back of your throat which tickles out of your lips after a particularly rough thrust; his hips smacking your ass – causing you to fall forward on all fours to break your fall. this doesn’t stop draco though. he’s in one of his moods. fuck authority and fuck you. he’s got a cigarette he stole from theodore earlier in his mouth, burning away – ash dust sprinkling across your back and he smacks your ass hard enough to earn a yelp while he continues to fuck the cum that’s dripping out down your thighs back into your pussy.
“aww, look – the lion’s little witch being stuffed silly by a serpent. wait until the other boys get here love – this little cunt’s going to be so stretched you won’t be able to walk properly for a week.”
mhmm.. getting fucked by slytherin’s elite behind your precious boyfriends back? girl – what a dream.
summary: you and draco have always been aquatinted through your families, although he never gave you a second glance. after a glow up the summer before 3rd year, he pushes to get you to go out with him, just for your families... right?
pairing: draco malfoy x reader
word count: 1k
warnings: y/n, lowkey overused trope quite a few times
a/n: my first published fic on this account! i know some of the tropes, especially towards the end are overused, but i still think it's cute. i tried to keep draco as not weird canon as possible, but i still make mistakes.
it was a few weeks into 3rd year, and you've definitely had a glow up. you noticed it, you gained a shit ton of confidence, and everyone at hogwarts noticed it too, especially draco malfoy, and he made it known.
almost immediately after sitting down for breakfast, cormac mclaggen struts his way over to you, and sits down next to you with a confident smirk on his face.
before he could even get one word in, you put your hand up in front of his face while prepping a bite of your food.
"no."
his jaw was practically on the floor; you shoo him away with the same hand and he walks away, muttering something sounding very similar to 'bitch' under his breath.
~
the next few days were just people giving you love letters, trying to ask you out, and you would give them the same energy as you gave mclaggen.
although when a letter dropped in your lap at breakfast one morning, you opened it out of pure curiosity, knowing it wasn't your parents sending it to you.
within was a simple yet stunning silver necklace with polished jadeite stones dripping in the middle, and a note in very neat and polished handwriting.
"be my date to the malfoy ball over winter break? - D.M."
you put the necklace in your bag carefully, and walk over to malfoy, leaning in close to his ear.
"you're going to have to try harder than that." you whispered, then sauntered out of the great hall.
~
over the next few days, gifts every morning would be dropped off via owl. a new lipstick, more jewelry, some flowers, some chocolates, but what convinced you to talk to him more, were your cat's favorite cat treats he sent... and the notes of "your hair looked absolutely stunning today" and similar definitely didn't hurt.
"hogsmade, this weekend. we can talk about the ball there." you told him the morning you got the delivery from him, again leaning over his shoulder and whispering in his ear, this time not missing the way his ears turned a pinkish hue.
that friday came and went, with you assuming draco was going to take you out the very next morning, as he is a predictable creature.
"dress casual for tomorrow. i'll be waiting for you in the common room at 10 am, sharp. -D.M" wasn't a shock for you to get at your dorm around 8:00 pm that friday night.
~
you wake up at 8:30 am, pansy groaning at you to turn your "bloody alarm" off while you stretch and get ready to shower.
by 9:45, you were walking down the stairs to the common room, wearing a nice tan skirt with some brown thigh high's and your slytherin sweater you steamed the night before.
"you ready to go, love?" draco asks when you emerge, holding his elbow out to take your arm.
"only if you are, love." you responded in a mocking tone, yet you still slipped your arm in his.
you walk with him to hogsmade, following the crowd making their way down, finding awkward silence with draco. neither of you knowing what to talk about or how to bring up anything you wanted to talk about.
walking down the paths, people especially from school turn and stare at you both. draco notices and pulls you closer to him, and what you didn't see was him smirking at the attention, and the glare he swore he saw from mclaggen and any other person who had asked you out.
draco changes directions, and opens the door for you to the three broomsticks.
"how chivalrous, do you do this for all of your girlfriends?"
"just the ones i really want to get to know" he winked at you, pulling out your chair for you.
"well, lets talk then."
the next few hours were filled with you both talking. it started off a bit awkward, but you slowly got into the swing of things after joking about your shared professors.
~
when you decided to head back to hogwarts, it wasn't either of your choices. the sun had started to set, and curfew was soon.
draco stood up, holding his arm out for you to take again. as you walk out of the pub, you shiver at the cold. you curse at yourself, winter is coming up soon.
without even batting an eye, draco stops to take his jacket and drape it over your shoulders, and you return the gesture by giving him a small, but genuine smile.
your walk back to hogwarts was spent still chatting, and you were surprisingly disappointed that you ended up infront of the stairs up to the dorms.
"i guess it's time to split."
"i guess so" draco responds, grabbing ahold of your waist like it's the most natural thing to do, and you drape your hands over his shoulders.
he leans closer to your face, and you notice his eyes drop down to your lips for a moment before they make their way back up to your eyes.
"can i kiss you?"
"only if you promise to take me out again next weekend." you both giggle before closing the gap between you. his lips are surprisingly soft and fit with yours like a glove. you grab the back of his head, deepening the kiss a bit before breaking loose and smiling at him, and his now tinted and glossy lips.
"so, will you be my date to the ball?"
"hmm, let me think about it." you tease before pulling him close to give him a peck.
you break apart, walking up the stairs while holding his jacket close to you.
~
the next morning at breakfast, you weren't surprised when draco decided to sit right next to you.
"have you thought about it yet?" he asks while he tops off your pumpkin juice for you.
you sigh playfully, smirking at him.
"i guess i will be your date to the ball."
you both smile at each other, and he doesn't miss the quick shine the sun has on your chest, reflecting the new, yet recognizable necklace now laid out on your neck.
summary: steve harrington is down horrendous for you, his best friend. his love is not as unrequited as he thinks.
contains: best friends to lovers, mutual pining (but mostly steve pining), steve’s pov, fluff galore, idiots in love, reader is good with the kids, reader is a skater like max, reader hurts her wrist and steve is a worried lovesick idiot. cw! descriptions of wounds/blood, mentions of hospital, reader wears steve’s clothes. she/her pronouns used.
a/n: first long fic yay!! I am extremely proud of this so pls love it 🤍
fem!reader 5.3k words
gif by @barneswayne
Steve Harrington is totally, most definitely, not in love with you. Just friends, he thinks, best friends. Best friends who hold hands and sit far too close together.
Speaking of, you push further into Steve’s side, your scent washing over him. Your hand squeezes Steve’s, and he thinks, never mind. Maybe he is in love with you. So in love with you it fucking hurts.
A chorus of shouts erupts around him. You and Steve are watching Eddie, Robin and the kids play beer bong, only without the beer. It’s soda. Dustin starts doing a stupid victory dance while half of his peers laugh and the others cringe. Steve cringes. You laugh. All high and lilting and adorable. Steve has to remind himself to breathe.
He brings your joint hands to rest on his knee. Your rings push into his skin, almost like harsh reminders that he can’t hold you like he wants to. He frowns.
“Steve?” Your voice brings Steve out of his thoughts like it always does. You give his hand a shake. “You okay?”
Steve looks up and prays you can’t see the hopeless devotion in his eyes. You’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, with your messy hair and your eyes lined with glitter. Rosy cheeks, glossy pink lips that he stares a beat too long at. He’s known you for years, and yet he’s never gonna get used to how gorgeous you are. He swallows, forces his eyes up to yours.
“I’m okay,” he says, though he’s really not. He never is, because you never won’t look like that. “Are you?”
There’s another explosion of noise from the soda-pong players, but you don’t seem to notice. You frown like you don’t believe him. He’s being too obvious, he knows.
“Yeah, I’m good. Are you sure, Steve?” You stretch your free hand across your torso to touch his face. Steve heats like an oven under your hand as you press your palm to his forehead. “You’re not feeling sick, are you? You feel sort of hot.”
Steve grabs your wrist, harder than he means to. He loosens his grip guiltily when you give him an alarmed look.
“Sorry,” he says quickly, lowering your hand gently. He can feel your pulse, only just, underneath his fingers. It’s damn sure slower than his. “I— uh, no. I’m not feeling unwell. It is pretty hot in here though.”
A total lie. The only reason he’s burning up is you.
Your frown deepens, a push of your bottom lip that makes Steve want to kiss you. It’s such an overwhelming feeling that he has to blink multiple times to make it go away.
“Oh,” you say. You look around the room and then back at Steve. “Do you want to go outside?”
Steve has a bit of a dilemma. If he says yes, he’ll be alone with you. He can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing. If he says no, he’ll have to stay in this stuffy room with yelling teenagers and ping pong balls flying at him every five seconds. He decides on the first option.
“Sure,” he says as nonchalantly as he can. Then, to make you laugh, “Smells like boy in here anyway.”
You giggle. Steve feels like copying Dustin’s lame victory dance.
“You’re a boy, Stevie,” you say teasingly.
He wrinkles his nose at you. “No, I know, but it’s like … adolescent boy.”
You laugh loud, your mouth pulled up in a staggering smile. “Oh, okay,” you say, as if anything he just said made any sense.
Steve is starstruck for a second before you’re pulling him up from his seat, your hand in his a familiar, heart-aching weight.
Steve finds himself sitting side by side with you on the hood of his car. He can’t exactly remember how he got here — on the way, all he could think about was your hand in his and the fact that your thumb kept brushing over his knuckles in very distinct lines. Whether you’d meant to or not, he doesn’t know. He hopes you did.
“Any better?” You ask quietly, stretching your pinky across the small gap between your hands to tap his.
Steve feels something like an electric shock where your skin touches his. It baffles him, how such a tiny touch can cause such a big reaction throughout his body. He stares at your hand when he answers.
“Much,” he says honestly. He looks up at you. “You didn’t have to come with me, you know. You can go back in if you want.”
Secretly he hopes you’ll stay here with him forever. But that would be selfish, and if Steve is anything when he’s with you, it’s not selfish.
“Eurgh, no.” You pull a disgusted sort of face that makes Steve grin. “I could barely stand it when you were there. Without you, I think I’d die from the smell alone.”
Steve laughs. Really laughs. The words without you, I think I’d die, float around his brain like fish in a fish tank. When he’s done laughing he catches your smile, all pretty and wide, and his heart does one of those funny backflips that he’s never gonna get used to.
Steve watches as you brace your hands on the edge of the car and push yourself up the hood, pulling your shoes up to rest on the metal. Your skirt is short enough that Steve can see half of your thighs, more when you shift yourself like that. He stares for two seconds too long and then feels so guilty he almost apologises.
Instead, he says, “Aren’t you cold?” He points at your skirt but doesn’t look.
You shrug. “No, not really.”
With a sigh you let yourself fall back against the hood of the car. Your skirt rises even more and a half inch more of your skin is exposed — Steve feels like the universe is out to get him. His only escape is to fall back next to you, his right shoulder brushing your left one. You smile when he does, head rolling to the side to look at him. Face to face now, Steve can feel every small breath coming from your parted lips.
“See any stars?” He blurts, because your face is much too close and he’s scared if you look at him like that any longer, he’ll kiss you stupid.
You look up at the dark, empty sky and wrinkle your nose. “No.”
“Wait, look, there’s one.” Steve lifts his arm to point at what he thinks is a star.
You squint in its direction. “That’s a plane.”
“What? No it’s— oh.” He trails off when he realises the ‘star’ is moving. It disappears behind a cloud a second later.
You laugh, breathless and pretty, and drop your head onto Steve’s shoulder. Your perfume fills the air around Steve and he has to stop himself from leaning closer. You bring a hand up to fiddle with your necklace, a cheap, plastic ‘S’ charm that sits directly on your sternum. The fake diamonds are falling off, half of them gone already, but you’ve refused to take it off after all these years. Steve has one of your initial, too. You got them from a dollar store when you were twelve and pinky promised to be best friends forever.
You slip your necklace safely beneath your top and then stifle a yawn behind your hand.
Steve gives your elbow a nudge. “Tired?”
You shrug one shoulder and then droop further into Steve’s side. Every point of contact between you burns.
“You’re tired,” Steve says matter-of-factly.
You make a noise that’s probably meant to be a sound of protest but comes out more like a tired moan. Steve chuckles lightly, reaches over and rubs your arm.
“Alright, sweet girl. Let’s go home.”
‘Home’ really means Steve’s house, because you’ve left your car there and because you’re over so much it’s become your second home. By the time Steve is pulling up the driveway, you’re so dead beat he doesn’t even consider letting you drive yourself home. You practically hang off his waist as he walks you both inside.
“M’tired,” you mumble as you pass the living room.
Steve has to bite back a laugh. “Uh-huh, I can tell.”
You look up at him and squint like you know he’s laughing at you. Then you say, “Can I sleep in your bed?”
Steve’s heart skips. Sure, you’ve slept in his bed before, but every time you have Steve lay awake for at least half the night. He’s not above admitting that he’s watched you sleep more than once. He’s seconds away from telling you to take the guest bedroom when you pout dramatically.
“Please? You’re so warm.” You push into his side, your arm tightening around his waist like you don’t ever want to let go.
Steve hates himself for nodding, but he can’t help it. “Yeah, okay.”
He drags you up the stairs and into his room. Your makeup and stray jewellery is strewn across his dresser — you’d gotten ready at Steve’s before the party. If you could even call it that, Steve thinks. He plants you on his bed and you fall back immediately, eyes shut tight as your hair splays across the sheets.
“You’re like a zombie,” Steve says amusedly, his gaze all fond and mushy as he looks down at you. “From like, Day of the Dead or something.”
You pull a face, faux offended but your big grin gives you away. “Ew. I’m not that ugly, am I?”
Steve hums long and high like he’s thinking about it. This makes you gasp and throw a hand to your chest like he’s wounded you. Before Steve can get half a laugh out a pillow is hitting him straight across the face.
“Hey!” He exclaims, glaring at you. You’re still lying down, eyes screwed tight like you’re pretending you didn’t just brutally attack Steve. He laughs because you’re fucking adorable. “Zombies don’t throw pillows, Y/N.”
Your words are plagued by a yawn as you say, “This one does.”
Steve sighs at your antics, picks up your murder weapon (his pillow) and replaces it on the bed.
“Oh no,” you groan suddenly, like you’ve remembered something awful, hands flying to your face in despair. “My makeup, Stevie. M’too tired to take it off.”
Your words stick to each other like taffy in your tired state. Steve remembers the last time he let you sleep in your makeup. He didn’t hear the end of it for days. He’d rather avoid your wrath this time round.
Steve sighs, knowing full well he’s about to put his foot in it. “Well, will you let me do it?”
You open one eye blearily and look at him. “Would you?”
Steve shrugs, though the thought of being that close to you makes him feel nauseous. Luckily, you’ve closed both eyes again so he can blush all he wants. Plus, he’d do anything for you. Even endure the overwhelming urge to kiss you breathless.
“Sure thing, babe. I’ll get the stuff.”
Steve ends up sitting on his bed with you across from him, crossed legs pressing up against his. You’re sitting so close you’re almost in his lap. He ignores this for the sake of his dignity.
You’ve got your eyes shut and your hair up in a clip. A lock of hair has tumbled out of its knot and Steve pushes it away from your face, fingers hooking behind your ear and lingering. He keeps his hand on your jaw as he raises his other hand, a wet cloth ready to clean your sparkly makeup off.
“You sure about this?” He asks hesitantly. He’s dead terrified he’ll do something wrong, like get glitter in your eye.
You smile softly, your eyes staying firmly shut. “Yes, Steve, it’s fine.” Your tone is half reassuring and half exasperated.
Steve bites the bullet and goes right in, pressing the wet cloth to your cheekbones first. You’ve got blush and glitter there, sprinkled on your cheeks like fairy dust. He smooths the cloth along your skin and it comes away sparkly and pink.
“Okay?” He asks, pausing worriedly.
You nod slowly, your head starting to droop in his hand. “Yeah, Steve.”
Steve grins fondly at your face, screwed up in exhaustion. He tightens his grip on your jaw to keep your head steady, thumb hooked under your chin. Carefully, he begins to dab at your eyelids, also painted with silvery glittery eyeshadow.
Your face dewy and makeup-free, Steve thinks you’ve never looked prettier. So pretty it drives him mad. He stares, really stares, for far too long but he’s worried if he opens his mouth, breaks the silence, he’ll never get to see you like this again. Your hair all messy pretty, your eyes shut and eyelashes kissing, your pink lips turned in a half smile.
He’s not surprised when your soft voice drifts into his thoughts.
“You done?” You open your eyes, eyelids heavy and head heavier.
Steve snaps out of it. He lets go of your face quickly, slides off the bed even quicker.
“All done,” he says, almost tripping over his own feet.
You smile, seemingly oblivious to his clumsiness. Or maybe, it’s just happened so often that you’re not surprised. Either way, your smile is sickeningly sweet. Steve is torn between the desire to kiss you or run as far away as possible from you.
Your voice matches your honey-smile when you say, “Thank you, Stevie.”
You reach out to touch his forearm, your hand a heavy weight on his skin as you wrap your fingers around his arm and squeeze.
He grins lopsidedly, and he’s sure he looks like a lovesick idiot but he can’t find it in himself to care. “You’re welcome.”
You drop your hand and Steve’s arm suddenly feels cold as ice. He wants to touch you again but knows he shouldn’t. He strides to his bedroom door and pauses to turn and look at you.
“I’m gonna get you a glass of water,” he says. Your eyelids are drooping again. He laughs fondly. “Get in bed while I’m gone, zombie-girl.”
Your giggle follows him all the way to the kitchen.
When Steve gets back, a glass of water in each hand, you’re still as a statue on your self-appointed side of the bed. You’ve swapped your outfit for a grey t-shirt that you totally stole from him but deny every time he asks about it, and the shortest shorts known to mankind.
He switches off the light and shuts the door with his heel. Pointedly avoiding looking at your bare legs, he rounds the bed and sets the water down, then bends over you.
“Y/N?” He whispers.
You hum softly, though Steve can’t tell if it’s a hum of acknowledgement or just a sound you’ve made in your sleep. He leans closer, listening to your breathing. You’re awake, only just.
He brushes his hand over your upper arm, touch as light as a feather. He thinks he feels goosebumps on your skin but doesn’t have time to wonder why. You’re lifting your chin slightly, lips parted.
“Goodnight, Stevie,” you whisper, so quiet he barely hears you. Steve’s heart swells. “Thanks for … everything.”
A few moments later you fall silent and your breathing grows steady, and Steve wonders how the hell you always fall asleep so fast.
He rubs your arm, kisses your forehead because he knows you won’t remember this part. His lips buzz as he pulls away. “Goodnight, sweet thing.”
-
You’re outside Family Video. Steve emerges from the back room and spots you so fast it’s like he’s got a third eye. He’s both shocked and pleased — he hadn’t expected to see you until after his shift.
You’ve got the kids with you. You and Max are zooming around the carpark on your skateboards while Dustin and Lucas are poised on the hood of your car, poring over comics.
He watches you skate with Max. Like some lame rom-com cliche, your hair is blowing in the wind and Steve swears you’ve moving in slow motion. You’re laughing and joking with Max and Steve stares and stares. Stares until Robin sidles up next to him.
“What’re you— oh.” Steve can hear the smirk in her voice even though he refuses to look at her. “What’re they doing here?”
Steve shrugs and makes an ‘I don’t know’ sound, moving to the counter to put down the box of videos he’s carrying. Robin follows.
“You’re not gonna go say hi to Y/N?” Robin asks slyly. Steve can hear in her voice what’s coming. “You’ve been staring long enough.”
Steve blushes furiously despite himself. “I wasn’t staring.”
“Oh, sure.” Robin hoists herself onto the counter, peers into the box of videos and picks one out at random. “Just like you weren’t holding her hand on Tuesday night?”
Steve can’t exactly get himself out of that one. He snatches the video from Robin with an annoyed tsk, slotting it back into the box. Her laugh is devilish.
“You are hopeless, Steven,” she says, whacking Steve over the head as she hops off the counter.
Steve rubs his head and glares at Robin. If looks could kill she’d be dead meat. “That’s not my name.”
Robin gets this look on her face that Steve knows all too well. He wants to pummel her before she’s even said anything.
“Oh, sorry,” she says, all sarcasm. “What is it, then? Stevie?”
Steve’s blood boils. Only you’re allowed to call him that.
“Y’know what, Robin?” He says loudly. He turns on his coworker, seething. She’s totally nonchalant, a stupid smirk on her lips. “Why don’t you just leave me—?”
“Steve!”
A shout of his name from the door. He turns and finds Lucas standing there, looking panicked.
Steve’s brow furrows. Then he notices you and Max are no longer whizzing around the carpark. “What—“
“Y/N fell,” Lucas says, out of breath. “We think she hurt her wrist.”
Steve’s heart drops. “Shit.”
He goes flying out the door and into the parking lot. You’re sitting on the concrete, one knee pulled up to your chest, your skateboard dormant next to you. Max is kneeling over you, and Dustin has graciously abandoned his comics for your sake.
“Y/N!” He damn near shouts. He runs over to you and Max and gets on his knees. He’s probably just ruined his jeans on the concrete — he doesn’t give a single fuck.
“Y/N,” he says frantically, a tentative hand landing on your shoulder. Both your knees are scraped something awful and a nasty gash blooms on the outside of your wrist. Steve’s worry is loud and his heartbeat twice as much. “Y/N, are you okay? What happened? What’s—“
You look up. Your eyes are shining but you’ve got a dopey smile on your lips.
“Steve,” you say breathlessly. You blink and a tear falls from your eye and over the bump of your cheek. “Hi. Good to see you.”
Steve stares at you in horror. How can you be making jokes at a time like this? You laugh wetly and Steve looks at Max, totally alarmed.
“What happened?” He demands.
Max is much calmer than he is. “She went over a bump or something,” she says. She’s rubbing your back and Steve feels a rush of gratitude for the younger girl. “Fell on her left arm. Her wrist might be sprained or broken, but—“
“Broken?” Steve repeats. He’s pretty sure his soul just left his body.
“I said might,” Max says through her teeth.
“Y/N?” Steve slides his arm around your shoulder, carefully avoiding your left wrist, which you're cradling in your uninjured hand. “Y/N, baby, can you get up?”
You make a noise like a scoff but it’s muffled by your sniffly nose. “‘Course I can.”
Steve helps you anyway, Max on your other side keeping a firm hold on your jacket. You hiss as you straighten your legs, knee-wounds sprouting fresh blood. Steve bites down on his lip so hard he almost bleeds himself.
“Are you gonna take her to the hospital?” Max asks. There’s genuine worry in her eyes that Steve barely sees. Dustin, Lucas and Robin appear, looking equally worried.
Steve puts on a brave face. “Think so. What do you think?” He asks Max. “You’re the skateboard expert.”
She grins so quick Steve almost misses it. It disappears when she looks at you in your bloody and bruised state. “Yeah. Just in case.”
Steve walks you over to your car, half dragging you. Not that you need him to, he just can’t bear for you to hurt any more than you already are. He deposits you in the passenger seat, ducks his head in to pull your seatbelt across your torso. He’s seconds from ducking back out when you stop him, your uninjured hand on his chest, right over his racing heart.
“It hurts,” you say, quiet enough that only Steve can hear. Your eyes are welling up again. Steve feels like crying himself.
“I know,” he says, nodding vigorously like it will make a difference. “I know, sweet girl. It’s gonna be fine. You’re gonna be okay.”
At this point he’s talking to himself as well as you. You nod in an exhausted sort of way and Steve presses a kiss to your cheek. Slow and soft and as close to your lips as he’s ever kissed. He has to take a few seconds to compose himself before straightening up and turning to the others.
“I gotta take her,” he says, sending an apologetic grimace in Robin’s direction.
Robin nods once and surprisingly, doesn’t say a word. She looks about as sympathetic as Steve has ever seen her. He turns to the kids.
“Help Robin,” he says. He’s trying desperately to make his voice sound normal but falling short of the mark. Everyone notices but nobody comments. “Don’t mess up the store.”
He gives a grateful smile to Max and then rounds the car, hopping in and starting the engine.
-
You’re half asleep on Steve’s couch, your head in his lap. You’re wearing his yellow sweater — the one he bought only because you’d said he’d look good in yellow. You’ve just woken up from a post-hospital nap and Steve’s hand is in your hair, brushing slow strokes over the side of your head.
He’s feeling a lot of things. Relieved, for starters. The doctor had said it was only a sprain, they’d bandaged up your wrist and you’d left the hospital in far better conditions. Steve was in far better conditions, too.
Steve looks down at you, at your bandaged wrist and the huge bandaids on your knees and thinks, fuck. He thinks his heart is about to claw its way out of his chest. He doesn’t think he can take this love thing any longer.
You stir and take a long breath, turning your head in Steve’s lap to look up at him. Your eyes are tired but you’re smiling.
“You okay?” Steve asks softly. He doesn’t want to break the silence. It feels good, to sit in silence and comfort with you. He runs his fingers through your hair again.
You nod. “Mhm. I’m good.”
“Hurting?”
You shift in his lap. “No, not right now.”
You fall silent and Steve doesn’t know what to say. He wants to tell you how worried he was about you, but you could probably tell. Anyone with a pair of eyes could tell he was nauseous-level worried. Then he thinks about telling you he loves you. It’s a stupid reason, really, but it was all because a nurse had asked if he was your boyfriend. He’d wished he could say yes.
“Steve?”
Steve hums and meets your eyes. You move to sit up and Steve helps you, knowing you won’t let him stop you. A firm hand between your shoulder blades, his palm sliding down your back as you straighten yourself. You shift so you’re facing him, your legs crossed beneath you and your injured wrist resting in your lap. Steve is careful to avoid your wounded knees.
“What is it, babe?” Steve asks quietly. He brings his hand up to caress your cheek, dragging his thumb over a spot where your tears had smudged your mascara earlier.
You melt into his hand, eyes falling shut as a long, deep sigh falls from your lips. You raise your good hand to cover his, holding it to your face. Your hand burns stars onto the back of his.
“Is it your wrist?” Steve asks. You’re acting strange. He puts it down to your injured state. “Your knees? Do you want more ice? New band-aids?”
He’s being a total worrywart, he knows, but who can blame him?
You shake your head, eyes open but cast down. “No.”
“Just feeling bad?” He asks through a frown. In a strange parallel to a couple of days ago, he lifts his free hand to press his palm to your forehead. You feel warm but not hot.
“It’s …” you start, then trail off. Both yours and Steve’s hands fall to your lap.
Steve’s concern spikes. You’ve never been one to hide anything from him. “Yeah?”
“Um, it’s … it’s silly but—“ You take a deep breath and let your eyes raise to Steve’s. You get a look on your face Steve doesn’t quite understand, but it makes his heart leap to his throat anyway. “You know today, when that nurse asked us if you were my boyfriend?”
Steve laughs embarrassedly, too loud and too sudden. So you’d been thinking about that, too. He pulls his hand away from your lap and rubs the back of his neck.
“Yeah, that was kinda weird, wasn’t it?” He says, though it wasn’t really. Almost every new person he meets thinks you’re dating him. “I was—”
“I wanted to say yes, Stevie.”
Steve stops talking abruptly, his mouth slamming shut. He hadn’t really known what he was about to say, anyway. He searches for words but all he comes up with is a garbled, “What?”
You laugh, all soft and slow and distorted by fatigue. You raise your hand to rub your neck, a mirror of Steve only a moment ago.
“I wanted to say yes,” you repeat, like it’s obvious. Even the second time, Steve doesn’t believe what he’s hearing. His chest feels like it’s on fire, worse when you say, “I want you to be my boyfriend.”
For once in his life, Steve has nothing to say. He gazes at you like you’re some sort of angel on earth. Maybe he’s dreaming. Maybe he’s in some cruel dream and he’s about to wake up with his chest aching.
“I …” Steve‘s voice catches on the words. His throat burns so he mustn’t be dreaming. He tries again. “Y-You … you do?”
He’s not even embarrassed by the stuttering. Just when he didn’t think he could be any more in love with you, you giggle. He was dead wrong. His heart grows about three sizes too big for his chest.
“Yeah, Steve,” you say, fondness smothering your fake exasperation. “Do you … do you want me to be your girlfriend?”
What Steve wants is to kiss you. He wants to kiss you til you can’t breathe and then some more after that. Silently, he takes your injured wrist in his hand and gently shifts it so it’s out of the way, resting on the couch cushions. Then he grabs your face, fingers splayed over your jaw and neck. He can feel your pulse. It’s almost as quick as his. He leans so close he can hear every breath you’re taking.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” he whispers, his lips ghosting over yours. “That okay?”
You laugh a giddy, breathless laugh, surprised at his suddenness. “Please do.”
He slams his eyes shut, darts forward to kiss you and fucking misses. Your noses bump. A surprised giggle bubbles from you and Steve goes red.
“Wait, I’m sorry—“ He tries again, tilting your head to one side and angling his head to the other. This time it works perfectly, and your giggling is swallowed up by Steve’s mouth, lips fitting together like they were made for each other.
You sigh and go all melty and Steve’s heart skyrockets. It feels like everything in the world is falling into place. It’s years of longing, eternities of lingering touches and offhand compliments and longing glances all rolled into one life changing kiss. Your good hand has jumped to Steve’s chest, first bunched in the material of his t-shirt and then spreading over it, palm atop his wild heart. He thinks he might die on the spot. Or like, catch on fire or something.
Steve is losing breath but he won’t stop just yet. He drops his hands to your shoulders and pulls away a hair’s breadth. Then he dives back in for one, two, three kisses that you respond to with all the eagerness in the world. Your kisses are so lovely they make him light-headed.
When Steve pulls away (for oxygen, nothing less) you chase his lips with yours. He laughs, all fondness. He’s dizzy with love.
“Woah, hold your horses, cowboy,” he says through a woozy laugh. He’s finding it hard to speak. He barely hears himself. For all he knows, he’s talking in an alien language.
“Sorry,” you whisper, not sounding very sorry at all. “So … was that a yes?”
Steve has to laugh. He can’t help it. “Are you kidding? Yes, Y/N. That was a yes. I—“
He’s rudely interrupted by someone banging on the door. He thinks he knows who it is. Only one person he knows knocks that hard.
He sighs morosely but he can’t keep the grin off his face for very long. “I’ll get it.”
He heaves himself off the couch and makes for the front door. You stop him before he gets very far, a hand in his bicep.
“Wait, Steve.”
Steve turns, puzzled. “Yeah?”
You’re lifting your chin up, lips parted. Steve knows exactly what you want.
His grin grows impossibly wider as he bends at the waist to kiss you once, chaste and slow and just as perfect as the kisses shared moments ago. When he pulls away you’re smiling so big he’s worried you’ll get stuck like that forever. He wouldn’t mind.
Another round of banging from the door. Steve sighs, squeezes your good shoulder once and then marches to the front door, just about ready to kick the intruder off his front porch. He opens the door and finds his suspicions were correct. It’s Dustin.
He’s holding a handful of flowers that look suspiciously similar to the ones that grow in Steve’s mom’s garden.
“Those for me?” Steve asks. He shoots his arm out to stop Dustin from barging in, hand gripping the door frame.
Dustin pulls a face. “Ew. No, they’re for Y/N.” He steps aside and more kids appear, plus Robin and Eddie. Eddie’s van has been parked haphazardly in Steve’s driveway. “Can we come in or are you gonna stand there and guard the door like that all night?”
“She’s tired.”
“But we bought chocolates.”
“Well—“
“Dustin?” You call from the living room. Oh, great. Now Steve’s gonna have to let them in. “S’that you?”
Dustin beams and gives Steve an expectant look. Steve drops his arm with a defeated sigh and Dustin goes marching in like he owns the place. Max, Lucas and even Mike follow. Mike, who never shows up to anything. Though Steve shouldn’t be surprised. You’re Mike’s favourite, out of the older ones.
Eddie comes next, then Robin, who stops to give Steve a grimace.
“Sorry,” she says wryly. “They really wanted to see her.”
Steve shrugs good-naturedly. He’s on cloud nine and much too happy to care all that much. He follows Robin into the living room and finds everyone crowded around you, Max on your side and Dustin getting down on one knee to present you the probably-stolen flowers like you’re the Queen of England. You look the same as Steve feels — kiss bitten and with your head in another world. But you’re pleased by the company, he can tell.
Dustin moves to give you one of his bone-crushing hugs and Steve goes all panic mode.
“Please be careful with her!” He says urgently, his panic obvious under the usual demanding tone he takes with the kids.
But you’re laughing under Dustin’s hug, and Steve can’t stay mad when you look like that. You meet his eyes over a mop of curly hair and your gaze goes all mushy and sweet. Steve’s legs feel like jelly. If he keeled over dead right now, he wouldn’t be surprised.
He’s sure someone will see but he doesn’t really care. Grinning from ear to ear, he mouths, “Love you.”
He’s said it before, of course he has, you’re his best friend in the whole entire world. This time though, it’s all the more different. It’s better. You flush, oblivious to the noisy chatter around you.
“Love you too,” you mouth back.
Steve can’t stop smiling for the rest of the night.
thank you for reading! feedback is appreciated!! reblog this and I’ll kiss you on the mouth mwah
Summary: an unexpected spark between rivals turns into something far softer than either of you expected. from banter to bruises to a quiet confession under candlelight — you learn that even the coldest hearts can burn warm.
Notes: this is my first ever fic i hope i did goodd so feel absolutely free to leave any suggestions to make my fics even better my dollies 🥰
You and Theodore have been the complete opposite of each other. Since your very first year at Hogwarts, he’s never missed a single chance to get on your nerves. From your houses to your habits, everything about you both seems to clash — and yet, somehow, that’s what makes it impossible to stay away. He is cocky, rude, arrogant — basically insufferable. Whereas, you are the sunshine: kind, honest, genuine, and empathetic. Both of you are top of your classes, both prefects — rivals, perhaps. But maybe something else, too.
Today’s Potions class had been cursed from the start — mostly because Professor Snape decided to pair you with Theodore Nott. You already knew that it’s gonna be a long lecture as Snape mentioned your name and his name.
You watched him walk over to you with that lazy smirk on his face. “Guess you’re stuck with me, Tesoro,” he said, voice low and teasing. “Lucky me,” you muttered, not even looking up. “Let’s get it over with quickly.” He says as he starts collecting the material.
As you worked together, the usual bickering somehow faded into quiet focus. His teasing comments came softer now, less sharp, almost like he forgot to be annoying. After some time when you leaned in to inspect the potion your sleeve catches a spark just for a second but you’re pulled back by a strong arm immediately, your head snaps back in surprise. It’s Theo. His arm still rests around you, fingers tight for a moment longer than needed. For once, he doesn’t look smug — he looks almost… worried.
“Careful principessa” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. You blink and nod slowly as your heart stumbles over itself. His hand drops away, and the air between you feels heavy with something unnamed.
By evening, the warmth of the classroom had faded into the golden hush of the Great Hall. Candles floated lazily overhead, you sat with your friends, half focused on the conversation, half distracted by the memory of his hand pulling you close.
Suddenly you’re snapped out of your thoughts when someone calls out your name, when you look in that direction you see Cedric Diggory, your housemate. You weren’t particularly close, but friendly enough to exchange smiles in the corridors, you found it a little weird but brushed it off. Cedric’s voice is light and cheerful as he slides onto the bench beside you.
“Didn’t expect to see you spacing out in the middle of dinner.” You blink, startled for a second before smiling. “Oh— yeah, just… tired. Long day.”
He chuckles. “Bet you’ve been overachieving again. Always so focused.” His tone is teasing, but his gaze lingers for too long. You giggled softly. “Maybee. Someone has to make Hufflepuff proud.”
“Trust me, you’re doing a great job of that already,” he says smoothly, his hand brushing against your bare knee as he makes it look like an accident.
You stiffen for half a second it’s small, maybe accidental. But then it happens again, more deliberate this time, his fingers grazing your skin. But before you can react, another gaze has already found you. Across the hall, Theodore Nott watches with his jaw tight from his table, The muscle in his cheek ticks.
“So,” he says, leaning in just a little, “no plans for the next Hogsmeade weekend yet?”
You blink, caught off guard and answer awkwardly. “Uh no, not really thinking about it.”
He grins. “You should come with me then. I promise I will take good care of you.”
You force a small smile, your voice quieter. “—I don’t know, Cedric…”
“Oh, come on,” he says, but the tone is more insistent now. “It’ll be fun. Besides—” his eyes flicker down briefly “—we could also have some fun afterwards you know..”
That makes your breath hitch, not in a good way. You shift slightly, trying to create space, your heart beating a little faster from discomfort.
That’s all it takes.
Theo’s chair scrapes back sharply against the marble floor. The entire Great Hall seems to be quiet as he storms toward the Hufflepuff table, his strides long and deliberate. In one swift motion, he grabs Cedric by the collar, his voice low but seething.
“Didn’t anyone ever teach you how to keep your hands to yourself?”
The chatter dies completely. All eyes are on them — on you — as Theo stands there, protective fury burning in his expression.
“What the hell, mate—” Cedric starts, but he doesn’t get to finish. Theo’s shove sends him stumbling back, eyes flashing with fury. “Keep your hands off what’s fucking mine” Before anyone can process what’s happening, Theo’s fist slams into Cedric’s jaw, the crack echoing through the Great Hall. Gasps ripple instantly as Cedric stumbles back, then lunges forward, grabbing Theo by the collar. Students gasp, benches screech and professors rush to separate them. When they are finally pulled away, they are both gasping for air and bruised.
The sight of Theo makes you freeze. He looks wild, angry, furious. “Hospital wing. Now,” McGonagall says sharply, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Theo doesn’t say anything just throws a sharp glare toward Cedric before turning away towards the heavy oak doors. As both of them are escorted away you sit there feeling heavy the murmurs about the fight fading in the background all you can think about is Theo’s face — how he looked so furious, protective and hurt.
You shouldn’t think about it much but you can’t help it and before you know your feet are carrying themselves towards the infirmary through the dim corridors. When you reach the infirmary you stare at the door for a minute before wrapping your trembling fingers around the door handle, pulling the door open and it lets out a creak which draws the attention of Madam Pomfrey and those ocean blue eyes.
You quietly ask Madam “Can I come in? Please?” To which she sweetly and gently replies, “Of course my dear!” When you step in your heart thuds faster, as your gaze falls upon him. You walk towards him the sound of your footsteps being the only sound in the room. Sitting down beside him, the mattress dips with your weight.
For a moment you just stare at him taking in all the bruises spread on his jaw, cheeks, the split lip and blood smudges. Somehow he still looks so breathtaking in this moment of vulnerability too.
The silence hangs in until you finally decide to break it.
“Why did you do it.. for me..? I thought you didn’t like me..” you mutter, hesitating to meet his eyes.
“Because he shouldn’t have touched you.. No one can..” he muttered “because you’re mine tesoro..” his voice dropping low and gentle protective.
The silence falls in again, heavy and before either of you can process you’re leaning in closing the little remaining distance and his mouth finds yours, his mouth hot and desperate against yours. The kiss is full of feeling, longing and protectiveness, his one hand slips to the back of your head tangling in your hair and the other to your waist pulling you impossibly closer.
When you both pull back panting softly, the world feels hushed — like even the air is afraid to break the moment. His forehead rests against yours, breaths mingling in the small space between. There’s a glimmer in his ocean blue eyes, something raw and unspoken.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs, voice low and raw with honesty.
Your heart stumbles a little, warmth blooming in your chest as your fingers brush his softly — hesitant, but sure.
“Is this like a confession?..” you whisper with a tiny chuckle, cheeks still heated.
“Consider it as one..” he says back with pure affection.
You both can’t help but smile as you both snuggle closer and he plants tiny kisses all over your face — cheeks, nose, and your forehead.
“I love you Bambina, my sunshine..” he whispered against your skin and for the first time, the world feels entirely still, just you and him, wrapped in something tender and pure.
Draco has been your date to...well everything, since you could walk. It is purely platonic. You are friends. Best friends. Right...?
CW! Pining, clumsy reader, Draco is emotionally constipated, alcohol. Let me know if there's anything else!
reader and Draco are childhood besties. Reader is in Slytherin. Ending is a little rushed, lazy proof read.
Main masterlist
°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡
“You are my date, right?”
Your chin slips from the cradle of your palm–elbow hitting the wood, a hiss of pain escaping your lips. Blissful reverie broken by his voice. There’s ink smeared all over your parchment, maybe your hands. So much for taking notes. Well, can you be blamed, Professor Binns is about as interesting as a mule’s bottom.
“Well?”
Your attention snaps up to Draco. The sun illuminates him into a very pretty, very impatient angel. You blink at his shiny hair, before humming a small, “What?”
He rolls his eyes exaggeratedly, “To the Notts’ Annual Gala. You are going to accompany me, yes?”
His tone makes it sound obvious. Maybe it is. You’ve been his date to everything since…you could walk, pretty much. It’s like an open secret, the two of you slotted into place. A universal fact. For convenience, obviously. You don’t want the trouble of finding an appropriate date to a posh gala, and he doesn’t want to give girls false hope. You’re just friends. Best friends.
Yeah. Platonic dates. That’s it.
“You don’t have to ask,” You reply, gathering your stuff. He scoffs, running a hand through his hair.
“My mother’s taught me better than that, darling. You should know.”
You raise your brows in a challenge. He gives you a look, before huffing. Then he moves, hunching in around you, one hand braced on the desk, the other rubbing at your cheek. His thumb ghosts over your skin, gentle. You feel sudden heat rise to your face.
“What are you doing?” You shove him away lightly. You glance around, anywhere but him. There’s only a few students still here, scrambling to get their things and leave. No one is paying you any attention.
“You’ve got ink all over your face. Doesn’t look very elegant.”
You let your jaw hang open in feigned offence. You shift to cross your arms over your chest, but it sends your–luckily closed–inkpot flying. You wince. Draco snickers.
“Well, if you want a date for the gala, you better wipe that smirk off, Malfoy.”
“Is that a threat, L/N?”
“I’m sure I could get someone to go with me.”
His brows raise this time. But something dims in those storm-bright eyes of his. A dark haze of some emotion. You try not to think about it.
“I’ll apologize,” He concedes, “You are a very graceful girl, Y/N. Even if you have ink on your face.”
You hum, unconvinced. He rolls his eyes, then sighs dramatically.
“I am truly sorry, dear. Don’t you leave me for some prick.”
Your heart flutters in your chest. His words linger dangerously close to jealousy. But maybe it’s just your traitorous little heart, and you’re reading far too much into this.
“And you’re not a prick?”
“No, darling.”
You shake your head in disbelief. He doesn’t respond, simply grabbing your books from your hands. The hefty volume doesn’t look nearly as big as it does in your hands. You don’t know whether to flush or be envious. He hauls up your things and holds out his free hand.
“Coming?”
You clear your throat, tearing your eyes away from those pretty hands, “Yeah.”
°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡
The topic comes back up a week later.
One of the warm evenings where the entire group—from Pansy to Enzo—have gathered in the common room. The fireplace casts long shadows over the room, lacing with the soft blue glow of the Black lake. You love these evenings, leant against Pansy, talking about everything and nothing.
“I swear it’s true!” You articulate wildly, Pansy belly laughing behind you, “Go ask Cormac, he’s still covered in the goop.”
“I’m not doubting you, L/N,” Blaise replies, hands raised in surrender, “I’ve seen you cast slugs into your own belly.”
“Hey!” You shout, indignant, “I was in second year, you bastard!”
You glance around at your friends, hoping someone will jump to your defense, but they’re all far too busy laughing. The traitors. You sigh in defeat, shifting back against Pansy, knocking your elbow into the poor girl’s gut in the process. Three of the traitors—not Draco, because he’s much too busy shaking his head in exasperation—double up on the laughter.
“Sorry,” you wince, rubbing at her stomach, hoping you look apologetic.
Pansy grumbles, “Next time you maim me, I will spill pumpkin juice on the dress you got for the gala.”
Your mouth hangs open, aghast. But you don’t have time to respond because Theo is speaking already—miraculously recovered from his fit.
“You’re coming? Mrs. L/N didn’t mention you in the RSVP.”
“Oh, I’m going as someone’s date.”
Pansy throws you off, forgetting all about your elbow and—thank Merlin—your dress, “A date? Whose date?”
You roll your eyes. They ought to know by now. Like you’ve ever gone with anyone else. You sigh, flop down back down.
“Dray’s.”
You want to tack on a ‘duh’, but you forgo sounding like a five year old. While Pansy hums, the boys sit up straighter. As though they know something you don’t. It makes your brows knit together. You cast a quick glance at Draco, but his eyes are fixed on the fireplace.
Nothing abnormal. He always looks like he’s contemplating his existence.
Right?
“You didn’t tell us.” Enzo has the biggest grin on his face. You are worried it will rip his cheeks in half.
“What’s there to tell?” Draco says, voice low. You nod vigorously in agreement. The boys are not convinced. Pansy looks like something’s dawned on her.
“She’s never been listed as your plus one, before, Dray.” Blaise replies, “Made her the missus, have you?”
The oddest squeak leaves your lips. You jolt up, somehow managing to knock Pansy off the couch entirely. She screams about tossing your dress in the Black lake, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Your ears feel hot. Is everyone else feeling hot? Merlin, they should extinguish the fire.
The group rounds on you, but thankfully, Draco comes to the rescue.
“She’s been my date since I was two, what’s new about it?” He sounds tense.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Blaise says, awfully pleased, “You know, I’ve known Pansy since I was two, she doesn’t call me ‘Blay’, now does she?”
“That’s because it sounds ridiculous,” You retort, but your voice wobbles, “All of you are absolute–”
“What is so abnormal about familial alliances?” Draco interrupts, “All of us have them. All of us have been forced to go to a gala with a specific date before, haven’t we? Let’s act mature about it.”
Forced. By his parents.
The flush in your throat is replaced by…unwelcome sadness. It thickens till it’s like a tight lump you can barely swallow around. It aches, and you hate that your eyes are welling up. You know it’s true, you always have. You are friends, best-friends. Obviously. It’s platonic, you shouldn’t be disappointed.
So, why is it that you can’t breathe?
You see the alarm appear on your other friends’ faces, the lightness giving way to something unhappy. You’ve never been good at hiding tears. You need to get out of here before Draco sees.
“It’s getting late,” You say, forcing a smile, but it’s too twisted, “I’ve got assignments, and I’m really tired, I’ll head up, yeah.”
“Y/N–” Pansy reaches for your hand, you shake it off.
“Good night, see you tomorrow, bye.”
You hear the protests of your friend group, hear the screech of armchairs being pushed. You rush to your dorm, and manage to make it up.
Not without tripping on the last step.
°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡
The gala draws around like everything inevitable.
You would have looked forward to it. The Notts’ house is grandiose and you love the gardens with a ferocity. The red, pink and white roses, marble fountains. You like the food they serve too, familiar enough to feel it on your tongue just at a thought. But it only makes your skin crawl.
Forced.
You shudder in the silk of your dress. Merlin, the dress. You had fallen in love with it on sight, delicate cream fabric that rustles like leaves in the autumn breeze. Or the ripples of a lake. It hugs all the right places, accentuates all the others. You love it. You wanted to wear something your mother bought, for once.
But now, it just feels like dead weight.
Draco joins you by the door, apologising for being late. You nod and smile and try not to trip as you enter. You don’t take his elbow when he offers.
His brows furrow, but he does not comment, “You look beautiful, darling.”
“Thanks.” You’re bad at pretending. Really bad.
“What? Do I look odd?”
“What! No!”
“I didn’t get the complement I was expecting.”
He looks perfect. The sleek black suit is perfectly tailored and the color of his shirt matches your dress. His hair is set, but not too much. You still want to muss it up, and you would have. But his easy smile only makes you hurt.
Forced.
“You’re good.” You manage. His frown returns.
You’re inside soon, and it’s easy to be whisked away from him. You meet your parents, accept the passing flutes of champagne and wine, most of all, keep your distance. You search for Pansy in the fray, but don’t find her. So you find other past times. When the musicians string up a quartet, you dance with Theo instead of your own date.
Then you dance with Enzo. Then with Blaise.
By then you’ve had three glasses of champagne, so you are open when he starts talking.
“Try not to step on the feet, love,” He says, smiling as he leads you onto the floor.
“No promises,” you reply, placing your hands on his shoulders.
“So…you haven’t danced with Draco yet.” Blaise says it more of a statement than a question, but you answer anyway.
“No.”
“Why not?”
You shrug. You don’t have an answer to that question. You shouldn’t be mad at Draco, you have no reason to be. This was for convenience, right? Always had been. You should just suck it up. Not like he could ever have feelings for you.
Blaise sighs, then regrets it because you step on his foot. You murmur a half hearted apology.
He shakes his head dismissively, “He’s emotionally challenged, I know.”
“Constipated,” You agree.
“But he didn’t mean what he said. He’s not the brightest–”
“He’s plenty bright.”
“Yeah, to you, because you’re bloody in love with him.”
“I’m not–” You duck your head, heat rising to your cheeks at the same pace as sadness swells in your chest.
“Don’t you lie to me,” Blaise warns, no real heat to it, “It’s obvious to everyone but the two of you.”
You sigh this time, thoroughly defeated. Your steps slow, and it’s only Blaise’s movements that keeps you gliding across the floor.
“I want it to stay that way,” You say, “He’ll never like me back.”
“Merlin’s sake.” Blaise rolls his eyes, fond but frustrated, “Look, I don’t think I can tell you something that Draco should, but you need to talk to him.”
“I do talk to him.”
Blaise raises a brow in challenge, “You’ve been avoiding him since that evening.”
“Well I–”
“He was a git, a sad sorry git. But you should give him a chance. He’s moping even now, look.”
You turn to follow Blaise’s gaze. Draco is standing in the far corner, wine clutched tight, jaw ground tighter. He does look mopey.
“Go talk to him.”
Blaise releases you, giving you a tiny nudge. You wonder if you should protest, but Draco looks too pitiful to be left alone. You are too attached to do it. So you offer Blaise a small smile, whispering a small ‘thanks’ in parting.
You don’t get very far.
A waiter’s tray crashes into you, spilling wine all over the cream dress. You yelp in surprise, jumping back from him, apologies cascading in a colourful string from your lips. Your hands wring the fabric hopelessly. Wine stains are wretched, even the most powerful cleaning spells can’t get rid of them fully. You want to cry. You are going to cry—
A coat is placed over your shoulders, the too familiar scent of citrus and smoke engulfs you.
Draco.
“Watch where you’re going,” He snaps to the waiter, though you’re certain it was your fault. He catches your shoulders, gently guiding you to an exit.
You barely make it out to the gardens before the ugly sobbing starts. Draco’s hands cradle your face, eyes wide.
“Darling, no, we can fix it, I’m sure–”
“Am I just a convenience for you?”
Salt and snot stream down your face, and you hate it. You must look horrible. You want to hide, run away. You want to turn back time to when everything was simple. Instead you just watch his expression morph, concern mixing with confusion.
“What?”
“Were you forced to be my friend?”
“Merlin, Y/N, no! Of course not.”
“Then you were forced into the dates and the–everything else. You didn’t want it. You didn’t want me.”
His brows furrow, his hands shifting from your face to your shoulders, as though clutching you tight enough could knock sense back into you. ‘
“No. What makes you think that?”
“You said it.”
For a moment he continues to stare at you in confusion. Then he pulls away entirely. You fear you’ve done it. You’ve scared him away, made him realize it was always a farce. It’s done, you’ve lost not only the one boy you’ve ever loved, but also your best friend. Way to go.
“I–I’ll go–” But he holds up a hand.
He stares at you dumbfounded for a second longer, “I wouldn’t–It wasn’t just. Merlin, I couldn’t be forced to spend every weekend with someone, Y/N.”
“I’m sorry,” He says after a moment, and it’s your turn to be confused, “I’m sorry I ever made you feel that way.”
“What?”
“You are so–” His fists clench then unclench like he just doesn’t know how to convey what he feels, “–You are everything to me, Y/N. Everything I ever choose has led to you, and I make bad decisions when people put me under pressure, I say stupid things.”
“You’re not stupid.”
“Not the point, dear. The point is, I want you in every sense of the word.”
Your eyes widen. You don’t think you’re understanding this, so you shrink into yourself, laughing nervously. You must look mad, laughing through the tears.
Draco curses—very unlike him—then strides forward, seizing your face with both hands, pulling you in until your lips meet his.
He tastes like wine and feels like everything right. You want to dissolve into the ground beneath your feet, meld your body into his. You tangle your hands into the hair at the nape of his neck. His hands shift to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. You only break apart when neither of you can breathe.
“I would pick you as my date every single time,” He says, placing his forehead against yours. You laugh, genuine this time.
“I’d say I would do the same, but I think you ought to suffer.”
He groans, dramatic as always, “Must I? You’ve been dancing with other people all night.”
You sigh, pretending to be very conflicted on the matter, “Fine, I guess I could spare one dance.”
He grins, swooping back in for a kiss, “Lets get to it then.”
You guess you’ll always be Draco Malfoy’s dates to these events. You just wonder if it was ever platonic.
in which — playing as keeper for the slytherin quidditch team is never easy. yet, when someone places a hex on your broomstick mid-match—almost injuring you—your teammates take matters into their own hands..
contains — five protective boys (mattheo riddle, theodore nott, draco malfoy, blaise zabini, enzo berkshire), a vengeful friend (pansy parkinson), mentions of heights & falling, hexing, a physical altercation & bleeding, appearances from mcgonagall, hagrid, madam hooch, and cho chang
word count — 1.8k
A collective gasp rang through the stands, the audience full of shades of emerald green and navy blue watching in shock. Lee Jordan swore loudly into the enchanted megaphone he held as he commentated the match — the sight so jarring that not even McGonagall reprimanded him over his choice of words.
“What the-,” Mattheo Riddle, who was flying closest to you, hovered his broomstick beside yours.
You, however, couldn’t respond, as you were too busy trying not to fall thirty feet down from your broomstick. You bent downwards, holding onto the handle for dear life.
The Quidditch match had been going smoothly — Slytherin was in the lead against Ravenclaw by 20 points to 0, and the weather conditions were ideal for one of the last match’s of the season.
As keeper, you maneuvered your broom in front of the three goalposts on your team’s side when suddenly, the broomstick had started moving out-of-control.
Your weight was held precariously on the broomstick which rattled beneath you — twisting and turning in every direction possible. The sight of your green robes swooshing this way and that caused the stands of heads to turn in every direction, trying to locate your resisting broomstick that held you, almost dangling.
Even the Ravenclaw team remained on their own broomsticks, transfixed at the sight — not even bothering with the fact that the goalposts were now deserted of protection against the Quaffle, which now floated around aimlessly.
Theodore Nott made his way over to your other side, before you abruptly turned in the other direction. “Careful, bella,” he said, narrowly avoiding being hit by the tail of twigs from the end of your broomstick.
“Make — it — STOP,” you rasped out, struggling to hold on — the broomstick moving even impossibly faster as it continued to rotate.
“Theo, go tell Flint to call time-out!” Mattheo yelled over the increasingly loud gasps coming from the crowd, as he tried to reach for the handle of your broom to hold it still.
Theo nodded, quickly tilting the hilt of his own broomstick towards the Slytherin captain.
Draco Malfoy, who was too preoccupied by your struggle rather than the golden snitch he was supposed to catch, made his way over.
“Are you alright?” he asked, concern — and mild entertainment — laced in his words.
“Oh — yeah — FANTASTIC!” you roared sarcastically, as your broomstick began to rise upwards and descend a few feet rapidly.
The sound of Madam Hooch’s whistle rang throughout the pitch, as Theo made his way back over to the small huddle of team players that had formed around you. Behind him was Blaise Zabini — Adrian Pucey and Marcus Flint behind him a distance away, watching in astonishment.
“How do we make it stop?” Theo asked, as Mattheo was almost knocked off his own broom — the handle of yours colliding with the front of his, sending him spinning.
“Guys!” a voice called from the stands. As you spun, you caught the brief sight of your two other friends who weren’t on the Quidditch team — Pansy Parkinson and Enzo Berkshire.
“Get her off it!” Pansy shrieked out, covering her eyes with the palms of her hands as she thought you were about to plummet to the grounds.
Mattheo and Theo exchanged a silent look with one another, before tilting their brooms downwards. They hovered below where you flew — waiting to catch you if you fell.
“Try a spell or something!” Enzo said, as he began to pull out his own wand, Draco and Blaise following suit.
“Immobulus!” Draco called out. The green sparks that illuminated from the tip of his wand twinkled around the wooden broomstick; he had missed you, as you were moving too fast.
“It’s not working,” he said, growing concerned the more pale your face became with each passing minute of vertigo.
“What is that?” Pansy pointed towards a cloaked figure that stood at the bottom of the pitch, beneath the stands. The figure was staring fixedly at your broomstick, their mouth forming around unheard words.
“Ugh, I’ll be back. Don’t let her fall!” Pansy ordered, before hurriedly making her way through the stands of immobile Slytherins, who stood transfixed at the sight.
Half of your weight was dangling off the broomstick, as you struggled to maintain your balance on the spinning death trap.
The whole stadium was simultaneously drowned in deafening silence and roars of raucous. Many people gasped, others letting out a sob. Hagrid had even covered his eyes from where he stood near the Ravenclaw students.
Your stomach dropped, as you felt yourself free fall. You shut your eyes tightly, bracing for the impact of the hard grounds.
Then, a collective cheer echoed throughout the stands — louder even than when the Quidditch Cup was awarded. You blinked your eyes open, realizing that you hadn’t landed on the muddy ground, yet rather, in someone’s arms.
“I’ve got you,” Mattheo said, as he pulled you onto his own broomstick — Theo holding onto the handle from beside you to ensure that it could support both of your weights.
A sick crunching sound was heard. You looked down, seeing your broomstick, or, what remained of it, as it toppled to the ground.
You stared with your mouth agape, still shaking as you reached to hold onto Mattheo. “You could say I caught you, huh?” he said jokingly, sending a sly wink over his shoulder at you, before heading towards the grounds.
A gleam of gold shining near where your broomstick had landed caught your eye, causing you to gasp.
“Malfoy, the snitch!” you yelled over Mattheo’s shoulder.
You had caught his attention, as well as the attention of Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw seeker, and the rest of the stands. Malfoy lurched forward, Chang barrelling towards the snitch from the opposite side of the pitch.
Both teams held their breaths, watching as the two dived towards the remnants of your broomstick. Malfoy fell towards the muddy terrain, rolling for a few meters.
You gasped. You saw a green gloved-hand reach into the air, brandishing a fluttering snitch that fought against his closed fist.
“Malfoy’s caught the snitch. Slytherin wins!” Lee Jordan roared, his own prejudice against the Slytherin team dispersed from the horrors of the match.
The stadium erupted in applause and cheers, as the rest of the team hurdled towards Malfoy on the grounds — your arms still clenched tightly around Mattheo’s mid-section.
“That was brilliant!” Blaise roared, as Theo clapped a hand on Malfoy’s back, earning a wince from him. Enzo made his way over from the stands, followed by the rest of the Slytherin spectators.
“That was-,” he began, before a horrid scream came from behind the stands.
“YOU!” a female voice roared.
Pansy Parkinson came striding onto the field, pulling a sobbing Ravenclaw by the sleeve of her robe behind her.
“This one,” she began, as the girl reluctantly tried to break away from Pansy’s grasp. “Was hexing your broom.”
The girl sobbed, covering her streaming eyes with the sleeves of her robes. “I was t-told t-to. Another boy said h-he would h-hex me if I d-didn’t,” she sobbed.
“Who?” Theo asked angrily, a shared look of fury mirrored on Mattheo’s, Blaise’s, and Draco’s faces from where they’d made their way over to the forming group.
Wordlessly, the sobbing girl pointed to a boy on the Ravenclaw team. Countless heads turned in his direction. You recognized the boy as being in the same year as you — you had even spoken to him on your first train ride to Hogwarts, the two of you anxious about which House you’d be sorted into.
He was already starring at the lot of you, feigning innocent concern. Before you could stop him, Mattheo had stride towards him, pushing him sharply across the shoulders — the boy toppling backwards to the grass of the pitch.
“Don’t-,” you tried to grab Theo’s arm, but he pulled away, following after Mattheo, wand clenched in his hand.
The boy unsteadily tried to push himself back up from the grass, brandishing his wand from the pocket of his Quidditch robes. He was quickly shot back down by Theo’s loud shout of “Expelliarmus!” as he caught the boy’s wand, dropping it to the ground and stomping on it with the heel of his shoe.
A Ravenclaw first-year from the growing crowd on the pitch gasped, covering his eyes with his much too large robes. Many of the Slytherins cheered, encouragements of “Yeah, hex his arse!” spewing about.
Mattheo leaned towards the boy as he laid on the grass, pulling him forwards by the hem of his Quidditch uniform, punching him across the nose harshly.
“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?” roared an authoritative voice, hurtling towards the crowd that had grown around the three fighting boys. Professor McGonagall had made her way over, Madam Hooch at her side.
“Depulso!” McGonagall roared. The three boys separated from one another — Theo and Mattheo on one side of the group, the Ravenclaw boy, who clutched his bleeding nose, on the other.
“He’s a filthy cheater,” Pansy chimed in.
“That’s enough, Parkinson!” McGonagall said, fury laced in her voice, her top-hat almost falling over her eyes as she shook on the spot with outrage.
“You,” she spoke, pulling the Ravenclaw boy up by his arm, “Go to Madam Pomfrey’s — and 50 points will be taken from Ravenclaw.” The boy quickly hurried away, his head downcast, a trail of blood following him as he left to the sound of whispers.
“And you two,” she spoke, addressing Mattheo and Theo. “25 points each will be taken from Slytherin.”
“Worth it,” Theo whispered, loud enough that only the seven of you could hear. Mattheo silently fist-bumped him.
“And detention,” she continued. She shook her head exasperatedly, before turning her way back towards the empty grounds, mumbles of “honestly,” and “completely unacceptable,” falling from her lips. Madam Hooch followed shortly after her.
“You all right, bella?” Theo asked you, placing an arm around your shoulders.
“I’m fine,” you assured. “My broom isn’t, though,” you pointed towards the remnants of the wooden broom that lay a few feet away.
“You know, that Ravenclaw boy had a pretty nice one..” Mattheo smirked, a glint in his eyes.
“You can’t steal his broom,” Enzo warned.
“Without us,” Draco finished, him, Blaise, and Pansy joining the rest of you.
“That’s not what I meant-,” he started.
“Come on, with any luck, we can hex him before he even makes it to Madam Pomfrey’s,” Pansy said excitedly, breaking into a run across the field towards the castle.
The five of you stared after her.
“Come on!” she looked over her shoulder and signalled for you guys to follow, breaking into a sprint.
Draco smirked, before running after her, his own broomstick clutched in his hand. Mattheo followed with a laugh, Theo reaching for your hand before the two of you sprinted after. Blaise shrugged, before running.
jacobvanloon
germansingergirl
dailybridgerton
janainaart
tangentwithtanner
kaledo-art
yousharknotpass
